


Don't Dream It's Over

by hopeneverdies



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Canon Divergent, Guns, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Superflu, Vomiting, death of 1d members, i suppose that's how i'd describe it, inspired by The Stand, probably some smut later in the story, story of survival, yet still a love story at its base
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:32:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6463174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeneverdies/pseuds/hopeneverdies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's June 2018 and in less than a month over 99% of the Earth's population has been killed off by a fast moving incurable superflu virus.  After going from the highest high to the lowest low over the course of just 18 days, One Direction member Louis Tomlinson finds himself alone, frightened, and heartbroken in Eastern Nebraska. A lone text message, however, sends him on a long trek to California.  He has to know if the boy he loves is still out there somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I recently re-read Stephen King's "The Stand" which is one of my all-time favorite novels (check out the mini-series from the early '90s too) and I got this idea for a Larry fic based off of the idea of a "superflu" virus that wipes out most of the planet. I'm not going to include, for the most part, the supernatural/good vs evil elements of The Stand. This is a love story first and foremost, but survival certainly plays a role in it as well. It's sort of half AU half canon compliant. 
> 
> There is definitely some angst right from the start and there is also the death of One Direction members and their family members. I just want to warn readers in case it's too much emotionally for them to handle. Also there's some suicidal thoughts so if that's a trigger for you please don't read it or read with caution.
> 
> I'm starting with just the prologue. Let me know what you think. Should I continue or should I ditch it or re-write it? I'm not sure how many chapters the story will be, but it probably won't be like 30 chapters or something like that. Maybe 10ish if that but we'll see how ambitious I get if readers want me to keep writing.
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome!
> 
> Oh and the title "Don't Dream It's Over" is inspired by the Crowded House song of the same name (which is played in the mini-series for The Stand also). I've always felt like this song gives me Larry feels.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a fictional story. None of this story is true and I am in no way associated with One Direction. I do own any original characters and please do not post this story anywhere else (other than a brief summary) on any other forum or blog. Also, please do not translate it unless you ask me for permission first. Thanks!

June 25, 2018

18 days. It's been 18 days since One Direction stepped off the stage leaving a stadium of screaming fans behind in Indianapolis. It was the last time they performed together as a quintet and the last time they would all travel together in their tour bus, on their way to St. Louis where they had been scheduled to perform the next night.

He lets out a groan as he sits down on the bright green grass pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, sweat pouring through his sleeveless black t-shirt, a clump of brown fringe falling across his right eye, his hair dripping wet from the Nebraska summer sun, his lungs burning with exhaustion, lightly tanned skin showing a bit of sunburn on his shoulders and the back of his neck, and a large metal shovel placed on the ground next to him. Taking a lengthy chug of water from the bottle he found in the kitchen of a now long empty small Italian restaurant nearby gives him only minimal relief. His body aches from head to toe and there's one thing he knows for sure in this fucked up shell of what used to be America: Louis Tomlinson was not built for digging graves. He was not built for digging one grave, let alone two graves in the past three days. He was not built for burying his bandmates, two of his best friends in the entire world. He was not built for physical labor and most of all he was not placed on this earth to be alone—the lone survivor.

Feeling a slight ache begin to surface in the back of his brain, he places his head on his knees and let's out a long labored sigh. Maybe the grim reaper is finally here to collect his soul and take him to whatever is out there beyond life on Earth. In truth, the idea of impending death feels comforting to Louis after the hell he's been living in for the past few weeks—a hell that has no sign of ending—unless this headache does turn into something more, but he knows it likely is just due to the heat and lack of sleep. He stays in the same position on the grass for awhile, letting his mind drift back to 18 days earlier when he and the boys thought they had the world at their feet. Screaming fans, photoshoots, and interviews with magazines and radio stations galore had proven that the One Direction “Back Again” album and tour were a stunning success. After a two year hiatus they were conquering the world like they had so many times before, and it was all five of them, Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne, Harry Styles, Niall Horan and Zayn Malik, for the first time since the spring three years earlier when Zayn had announced he was leaving the band. The album had received overwhelming praise and their first two singles had soared up the charts. One of those singles Louis had penned himself and he wasn't ashamed to feel pride in himself for his achievements. At 26, life was good; hell it was great, and Louis wanted it to last forever.

That night in Indianapolis had been amazing. The show had an incredible energy, as did the crowd, and Louis left the stage on a high. He knew the other boys did too. After the show one of their assistants, Penelope, brought them all some sandwiches and chips from a local sub sandwich shop and they boarded their bus to make the 2 hour drive to Missouri. An hour and a half into the trip, somewhere in southern Illinois, Harry and Niall had both retired to their bunks and Louis was sitting at a table playing blackjack with Liam and Zayn, all three finally starting to come down from their post concert high as they exchanged yawns. Just as Liam was dealing the last hand, a phone vibrated on the table—Harry's phone. Little did the boys know that one phone call would be the start of the end, not just for them as a band, for them as young men, but for the entire planet. 

Louis pushes away the memories of the past few weeks and gets back to task. He walks out of the park and across the street to the Westbridge Hotel that had been his residence for the past 11 days. He uses the rest of his bottled water and a dirty towel to wash his hands the best he can before entering the building, pulls off his sweaty shirt leaving it on the lobby floor, and stops in a nearby linen storage room for some clean king-sized white sheets, before climbing the stairwell to the 4th floor, stepping over a decaying body half way up. He opens the door to his hotel suite and once again he's faced with what feels like an impossible task: another final goodbye. Taking the crisp clean bedsheets from downstairs he wraps them tightly around the still body. He starts to staple the sheets closed with a large staple gun he found three days prior in the janitor's room—fucking hotel didn't have any needles and thread which would've worked better—but he stops before he gets to the face. Tears build behind his blue eyes for what must be the millionth time over the past few weeks. He places his still sweaty right hand on the now cold stiff left cheek of his close friend, his bandmate for the past eight years; one of the best lads he ever had the pleasure of knowing.

“So long Nialler,” he whispers in the other boy's ear, even though Louis knows there's no one else in the hotel to hear him, maybe no one in the entire city of Omaha. “You were my little brother yeah?” He's choking back the tears now but it's no use as they start to fall freely down both his dirty cheeks, leaving visible tracks along the way. He places a light kiss on the younger boys' cool forehead and then with shaky hands proceeds to enclose the rest of the sheet around Niall's body.

It takes him almost an hour to carry Niall's body down the four flights of stairs and across the street to the park where the empty grave is waiting near two large oak trees. The accuracy of the term 'dead weight' is something Louis has become all too aware of and his small exhausted body is quickly losing its strength as he tries to gently lay his friend to rest inside the nearly six foot deep hole in the ground. Glancing once more at the white wrapped mummy like shape below with a heavy heart he slowly begins to fill in the hole with the dirt that had taken so long to extract that morning. Once it's filled he smooths over the top and breaks off two limbs from the lowest branches of one of the oak trees. He pulls off the twigs and leaves and utilizes some duct tape to sculpt them into the shape of a cross. Pulling Liam's pocket knife that he had found in his late friends' suitcase nearly a week earlier out of the right front pocket of his filthy jean shorts, he carves Niall's name vertically down the top length of the gravemarker before pushing it into the hard ground above the freshly replaced dirt. 

“I'll miss you mate,” he nods. “I bet you're already outdrinking everyone up there.” A small smile escapes at the thought of his Irish pal laughing it up with a mug of ale in Heaven's finest pub. “Maybe I'll see you sooner than later and we can have a merry drink together.”

With that Louis takes a few steps back and pulls his phone out of his pocket. It's on its last battery life now, but there's enough to take a picture or two. He focuses the screen on the twin burial sites in front of the two oak trees and snaps a picture. Then he zooms in on the two crosses marked 'Zayn' and 'Niall' and with one more push of a button he's finished. He lets a single tear slide down his right cheek before turning and walking away.

He trudges up to his hotel suite and sits down with his back against the wall facing the bed, legs outstretched in front of him, kicking off his muddy green Adidas sneakers at the same time as letting out a large yawn. Lying in any of the hotel beds isn't an option for him because they all became the deathbeds of the ill over the past week or so and nearly every room contains the corpse of a former hotel patron or worker. Many of the dead were a part of One Directions' crew, including their tour manager, their drummer, lead guitarist, hair stylist, and their assistant Penelope. It's now early afternoon and he watches as some shadows start to creep through the room's east facing window. The electricity went out two days ago and Louis' only source of light once the sun sets is one large red flashlight with only one set of batteries and his cell phone that desperately needs charged. By the time they lost power there had only been four people alive in the building: one middle aged hotel laundry attendant who was nearing her last breath, a 20 year old member of the 1D stage crew named Joel who had fallen ill hours earlier, Niall, tucked into Louis' bed, getting sicker by the minute, and Louis, who despite not being able to find a mask to guard him from the germs and having spent days nursing his sick friends, was feeling perfectly fine. By late last night it was only Louis and by the looks of it there was no one else left within a few blocks in each direction of the hotel by this morning. The world as he had always known it was gone. From sold out stadiums to maybe the last person on the planet in a few weeks. How is that possible?

Reaching into his back pocket and retrieving his phone, he fumbles with it, tossing it around in his hands several times but not turning it on. He's alone and devastated and scared. A part of him wants to find a ladder and tie a rope to the high wooden beams in the hotel lobby and hang a noose around his neck and just end it—or perhaps a good old bullet to the brain would be even better—but one thing and one thing only is keeping him from pulling the trigger. He turns on his phone and finds the text. It was there when he woke up from the couple hours sleep he managed to get on the thankfully carpeted floor last night. He hadn't received a text or call from any friend or family member for four days and each message prior to that had been more dire than the previous, often with tearful goodbyes and sad emojis. The new text was from the number of Anne Twist, Harry's mother, whom he knew had passed away in Los Angeles well over a week earlier. Louis' heart leapt into his throat when he read the message: 

_I don't know if you will ever see this or if you are even alive but I love you Lou. I always have and I will be in love with you until I take my last breath and even beyond that. H_


	2. The Phone Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to continue with this and I hope everyone enjoys it, although I kind of feel this chapter might be rubbish. I had a horrible time getting it to copy and paste right and so the spacing in the story is a little f'ed up in places. Sorry.
> 
> Just a note that each chapter will be split in two: a flashback and then present day. The flashbacks will help fill in the backstory as we go along. So everything before June 25th, 2018 is flashback and everything from that date forward will be present day in the story. Each section will be dated and give the location to make it easy to comprehend when and where we are during each part of the story.
> 
> For the time being the story is all from Louis' POV but it could change with another character being introduced later on. Oh and in this story I excluded Louis' two youngest siblings and left his mum divorced.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like it and as always comments and constructive criticism are always welcome and appreciated!

Friday June 8, 2018 (or 17 days earlier)  
Southern Illinois/St. Louis, Missouri

 

_Bzzz_

_Bzzz_

_Bzzz_

 

Harry's phone kept vibrating on the table where Louis, Liam and Zayn had been playing cards inside their bus as it rolled westbound down I-70 heading for St. Louis. 

“Who the hell is calling Harry at 3am?” Zayn wondered aloud.

Liam shrugged. “Should we wake him up or let it go to voicemail? I'd hate to wake him for it to just be drunk Grimmy calling to brag about some actor he was partying with, or shagged for that matter.” It was known that Harry's good friend, Nick Grimshaw, a rather flamboyant disc jockey and tv presenter in the UK, was quite the party boy despite now being in his thirties. There had been rumors that Nick and Harry were in a secret romance several years back, but Louis knew their relationship was never anything more than close pals (even so Louis barely tolerated Nick and he knew the feeling was mutual). Nick, or Grimmy as many called him, never failed to share his newest celeb news, even if that news was more info than anyone else could ever want to hear, or visualize. 

_Bzzz_

“Answer it Louis.” Zayn pushed the phone across the table toward him.

“Why me?” Louis asked, but he knew why and the dead stare Zayn gave him was enough for him to not even argue.

He let out an exaggerated sigh before he picked up the phone and immediately recognized the name of the caller. He pressed 'yes' on the blue iPhone 8's screen to accept the call before placing it to his right ear. “Hello?”

There was an extended pause and Louis wondered if the caller had hung up or if the call had dropped, but just as he was about to end the call he heard her.

“Louis?” She was clearly surprised to hear his voice. A few years back she probably would've half expected him to answer Harry's phone, but times had changed.

He let out a small chuckle. “Gemma! How are you, love?”

“I'm okay I guess.” She sounded a bit distracted. “Look, I'm sorry if I—um—interrupted you and Harry and whatever you two might be doing—I'm not asking so please don't give me the deets—but I really need to talk to my brother right now. It's important.”

Louis normally would've had a sassy comeback for Gemma's insinuations but he could sense the tension in her voice so he gave her a break this one time. “Sure. We're on the bus right now and he's asleep in his bunk, _alone_. I was awake and his phone was on the table near me. That's why I answered, just so you know. I'll wake him up. Just a minute.”

Louis made his way over to Harry's bunk where his bandmate was snoring lightly while sprawled out on his stomach, his long brown curls spreading across the upper third of his back. He was dressed in a plain white v-neck tee shirt and gray sweatpants and Louis paused for just a second to note how peaceful he looked before knowing he had to disturb the boy's slumber. 

“Haz, wake up.” Louis shook Harry's right shoulder gently with his left hand. Harry responded with an unhappy grunt and a push of Louis' arm, never opening his eyes. “Wake up!” Louis raised his voice a little and shook Harry's shoulder a little harder. 

Harry's eyelids opened, still heavy with sleep. “Huh? Are we in St. Louis?”

“Almost,” Louis responded, having to restrain himself from reaching out and combing his fingers through the other boy's curls. “That's not why I'm waking you though. Gemma is on the phone and it sounds pretty important.”

“Thanks.” Harry replied with a sleepy voice as he reached out and took the phone from Louis. Louis drifted back to where Zayn and Liam still tiredly chatted at the table so he could give Harry some privacy.

Moments later Harry slid out of his bunk and approached the three older lads. Louis could see by the look on his bandmate's face and the way he fidgeted with his phone that something wasn't okay. 

“Is everything alright mate?” Zayn, whose awareness of the other boys' emotions was like the awareness of an owl in the middle of the woods at the dead of night, inquired. Louis had missed having a friend who could always sense what he was feeling and was always willing to listen, even if he would never have admitted it, during Zayn's absence from the band. Harry's moss green eyes briefly met Louis' sapphire blue orbs, before he sat down on the small black leather couch across from the other three boys; his glance then moved on to face Zayn's intense brown ones. That one small glimpse was all it took for Louis to know the situation was serious. After eight years, five of which were spent living together—and most of that time also sleeping together—Louis was an expert in reading Harry's eyes. What he saw now was sadness and worry.

“My mum's sick.” Harry's voice was low and deep and uncharacteristically a little unsteady. “She's in the hospital in LA. They think she has the flu.”

“Like the regular flu right?” Liam asked immediately. “Not like the superflu that's been going around in Central and South America?”

Harry's gaze dropped to the floor and the other three boys all just knew. They didn't need to hear the words. Louis had read the news reports for the past couple weeks. In early May, a new flu virus had arose in a few South American nations. It was fast moving and untreatable and while it had a technical name, it was most often called SAF (South American Flu), or just simply Superflu by the general public. The first few persons to get sick all died within five to seven days after falling ill. Within two weeks it had spread into Central America and parts of Mexico, and by the first of June it was reported to have popped up in California, Arizona and New Mexico. There had been around a dozen confirmed cases in the United States last Louis had heard and each sick person was being quarantined. Flights, as of yesterday, to all Central and South American nations, as well as to Mexico had been canceled indefinitely. Most other nations around the world followed suit. The United States Center for Disease Control had held a few press conferences since the outbreak and the most recent one, a couple days earlier, had been spent reassuring the American people that the illness was contained in the US and reminding citizens to practice good hand washing techniques and to not leave your home if you are feeling unwell. While most people seemed to believe the CDC and other health organizations around the world that it would be contained in North America and would not cross the Pacific or Atlantic, everyone currently in the United States could sense an uneasiness in the air everywhere they went. Some people wore masks and 1D's management were already considering postponing the band's concerts in LA, San Francisco and Phoenix, scheduled for the first week of July. The media had been unable to find even one confirmed case of a Superflu victim recovering in any infected nation, and Louis had a feeling that it was worse in South America than the reports on the telly were saying, but everyone had faith that Western medicine would be able to find something to treat SAF, or quickly create a vaccine to contain and eliminate it. 

“The blood test hasn't come back yet to confirm it, but someone who sat next to her on a flight from Houston to Los Angeles last weekend was confirmed to have Superflu and I guess he's in pretty bad condition now.” Harry's voice quivered as he continued to stare at the floor. “She's being quarantined at a hospital in LA with a few other sick people.”

Louis took in a shuddered breath. His brain was muddled, tears threatening to spill forward.

 

_This can't be happening!_

 _Not to Anne_.

 _Not to Harry_.

_Not to these people he loves so much._

 

He instinctively reached out and placed his right hand on Harry's left knee, squeezing gently. Zayn sat down on Harry's right side and wrapped his arm around the youngest band member's shoulders. Louis watched in silent agony as sobs escaped from his former lover's lips and tears poured down his cheeks. Liam came over and kneeled down on the floor near them, reaching up to squeeze Harry's right forearm. After receiving several minutes of silent comforting, Harry sat up and wiped the tear streaks from his face with the palms of both hands.

“Gemma is in LA with Mum but she can't see her or anything. She's scared and I really just need to go be with her. I told her I'd try to fly out after tonight's show.”

“Don't worry about tonight's show,” Zayn insisted. “Go to LA and be with your sister. We'll defend you if management gives you shit about it.” Louis and Liam nodded in agreement.

“What—what about the show? The fans?” Harry questioned. “I can't let the fans down, or leave you guys to sing all my solos.”

Louis smiled. Typical Harry, always worried about others even when he needed to focus on his own well-being.

“The fans will be disappointed, sure, but they love you and they'll understand.” Liam responded, with a squeeze of Harry's right shoulder. “Don't worry about us mate. We'll manage without you for one night.”

 

A short while later they arrived in St. Louis. The famous Gateway Arch could be seen rising above the parking garage of their swanky downtown hotel. Harry had already spoken on the phone with their tour manager, Frank, a sixty-something short stocky balding man with a thick Brooklyn accent, about the situation at hand. After a little back and forth between them, and some reassurance from Liam that the other four boys could handle a single concert without Harry (hell they'd handled nearly an entire tour without Zayn in 2015), Frank agreed to let Harry leave for Los Angeles as soon as possible. A direct commercial flight to LA leaving just after nine o'clock was the first availability and Louis knew Harry would have to leave for the airport long before that. They all checked into their hotel rooms at four in the morning in hopes of getting some much needed sleep, including Harry, despite the fact he would have to be up in a couple hours. 

Louis immediately collapsed on the king sized bed in his room. Sprawled out on his back with his arms behind his head, his thoughts drifted off to a different time. To a time in early 2011 when One Direction had just placed third on the X Factor UK. Louis and Harry had become quick friends, inseparable really from the moment they met in the loo at the television studio, and during some time off following the end of the show Harry had invited Louis to spend a couple weeks at his house in Holmes Chapel. Louis had been there once before, toward the end of the singing show when each contestant got to go home and visit their hometown. Harry's family had been so welcoming to all four of the other boys and when Harry asked if Louis would like to spend some time with them that winter, Louis couldn't refuse. He could never refuse Harry. He spent two weeks as their guest and Harry's mum, Anne, quickly became like a second mother to him. She was as loving and kind and supportive of Louis as Louis' own mother. In fact, Anne and Jay, Louis' mum, became good friends themselves, soon afterward. Gemma, Harry's older sister, was amazing as well. She was Harry's closest friend and soon she became a close friend of Louis' too. Then there was Robin, Harry's stepfather. The only word Louis could think of to describe Robin was jolly. He was just always jolly, kind of like how one would imagine Santa Claus to be. Harry's home was a joyous and inviting place, and Louis knew after spending two weeks there that he desired to be a part of their family, even if he wasn't actual blood relation.

Louis understood, as he let his mind transition from happy memories past to current events, why Anne had flown out to California. She needed an escape after suddenly finding herself widowed shortly after New Year's. Robin had suffered a fatal brain aneurysm late one night. He had been working on some financial paperwork in his office in their home. Anne had kissed him goodnight, and when she woke up the next morning she found him slumped over the desk, skin pale and cold, heartbeat non-existent. The news had been a shock for everyone. Harry had missed a week of album promotion to be with his mum and sister. Louis and the other boys had flown back to England from Canada to attend Robin's funeral. Louis had been a pall bearer, alongside Harry. He knew the pain of losing his stepfather whom he had adored was something Harry was still dealing with five months later and Louis' heart ached to think about Harry possibly losing his mother too. The heavy weight he felt inside him kept him from falling asleep.

Around 6:30, when he heard the shuffling of feet and the flush of a toilet in the room on the other side of the wall behind his bed, he made his way over to see Harry before the other boy left for the airport. Louis needed to see him, needed to whisper assurances in his ear, needed to wrap his arms around him in a friendly embrace (okay maybe more than friendly for Louis but that was an issue to address another time).

He knocked lightly on the door and after only a few seconds it opened slowly to reveal a clearly exhausted Harry, curls pulled up in a messy bun, shirtless but still wearing the gray sweatpants he had on in the bus earlier. Dark circles under red rimmed eyes made it obvious to Louis that Harry hadn't slept since they'd reached the hotel. He wondered if Harry could tell he hadn't slept either. If this had happened a few years earlier they would've comforted one another in the same bed, holding on for dear life, wiping away each other's tears, but that was in the past and they had both moved on—well Louis hadn't really moved on but Harry had—and more than three years post-breakup they were still friends, awkward friends sometimes, but still friends, and Louis would accept that over the alternative. 

They just stood and stared at each other for a second or two longer than what was probably considered acceptable for ex-lovers before Harry opened the door fully and ushered Louis into his room with a wave of his hand. As soon as the door shut they embraced each other like two magnets drawn together by force; Louis on his tip toes, Harry's arms tight around Louis' neck and Louis' arms wrapped around Harry's middle, his hands rubbing up and down Harry's smooth bare back. It wasn't romantic, Louis knew, but it was something more than platonic. Something they both needed. They stood in their embrace for what felt like hours to Louis, even though it was likely just mere seconds. He squeezed his eyes shut to focus on the feeling of their bodies pressed together, their souls entwined if only for a fleeting moment, before the sound of soft sobs drifted into his left ear. Louis pulled back and took Harry's face into his hands, wiping away the tears falling from the other boys' sorrowful green eyes with his thumbs.

“Hey, everything's gonna be okay, love.” Louis spoke softly, trying to reassure both Harry and himself. He felt the burn of tears behind his own eyes but held them back. He needed to stay strong for the both of them. “Everything will be just fine and you'll be back on tour before you know it.” 

Harry nodded with the slightest hint of a smile that seemed to show some relief. He sniffed and then scrunched his nose up in a way that Louis had always found adorable and Louis smiled back at him never breaking eye contact. He needed Harry to know that no matter what happened he still had Louis. He would never abandon him; not in any storm, not in any universe, not in any lifetime. 

Suddenly, the moment was broken by a knock on the door. Harry cracked it open slowly to find Penelope, looking barely awake, her golden blonde hair haphazardly pulled back into a low ponytail, her black Beatles t-shirt wrinkled like she had slept in it. “Harry, ten minutes before your car gets here to take you to the airport.”

Harry mustered up a smile and thanked her before closing the door again.

Louis shuffled his feet uncomfortably before speaking. “I should let you get ready. Keep us updated, yeah? Give Gemma a hug for me and your mum too when she's better.”

“I will.” Harry responded before giving Louis another hug, a quick one this time.

Louis made his way to the door to leave before turning around at the last second. “Hazza?” 

“Yeah?” Harry responded, his eyes still fixed on Louis.

“I'm here if you need anything; anything at all. Don't hesitate to call or text or whatever.”

Harry smiled, this time a true genuine dimple popping smile that made Louis' heart pitter patter a little faster. “Thanks, Lou.”

After Louis returned to his room he tried to go to sleep but sleep just wouldn't come no matter how tired he felt. Finally after about an hour of tossing and turning he grabbed his phone and selected the first number in his contact list. After the third ring, someone answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey Mum.”

“Lou? It's so good to hear from you love!” His mother exclaimed. Unsurprisingly, Louis could hear the sound of a busy house in the background. Louis had four younger sisters and together with their mum they were a loud bunch. Louis himself was quite the talker though so he didn't mind.

“Hi Louis!” He heard his 17 year old sister, Fizzy, yell in the background.

He relayed a hello to his sister through their mother before he heard a door open through the phone and the sound of his sisters' voices in the background disappear.

“Honey, what's wrong?” He heard his mum ask and he thought he might hear birds chirping now, indicating his mother had stepped out into the garden behind her house. “You sound so tired. Have you been sleeping alright?”

Louis took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He and his mother had always been close. She knew him better than anyone, other than maybe Harry, and it didn't surprise him that with just a few words out of his mouth she could tell he was tired and upset.

He rubbed his eyelids with the fingers of his free hand. “I haven't slept at all,” he confessed.

“Please tell me, love, that the only reason you haven't slept is because you and Harry were having some _fun_ together and not something else.”

“Mum!” Louis replied in an exasperated tone. The thought of his mum referring to his and Harry's sex life, or lack thereof, gave him the willies. “God, could you be any less subtle?”

“A mum can wish can't she?” He could practically see her guilty ass grin through the phone.

Louis sighed loudly to make sure she heard him. “To answer your question, no, Mum, Harry and I were not having _fun_ together, nor have we had that kind of _fun_ together for more than three years, so you might need to give up on that little fantasy of yours.”

“Fantasy of _mine_?” His mother questioned. “I'm pretty sure it's _your_ fantasy love, and I just want it to come true, because I want you to be happy and because I know you'll only be happy if you're with Harry.”

He smiled, because deep down he knew it was the truth. “Alright alright, fair enough.” Then he paused before getting serious again. “Mum, I called to tell you something and it does have to do with Harry.”

Over the next few minutes Louis told his mother about the current situation with Harry's mum. Jay and Anne had become close friends in the first year after the band had formed. In fact several of their family members had formed tight bonds with one another around that time. They remained close until Harry and Louis split up in early 2015, and when the band went on hiatus the following year, Jay and Anne remained cordial (Jay and Louis' sisters did attend Robin's funeral), but eventually their friendship became more distant just as their sons had distanced themselves from one another. Despite all of that Louis heard his mother's quiet sobs through the receiver when he told her the news.

“Mum, I just wish I could be there in LA with Harry. I wish I could do more for him and his family,” he finally admitted.

“Honey, just be there for him if he calls. Give him love and support. That's all you can do right now.”

She was right. She was always right. As usual, he felt some weight lifted from his shoulders after talking to his mum. He said goodbye to her and then quickly nodded off to sleep.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday, June 25th, 2018  
Omaha, Nebraska

He stared at the words on his phone. By the time that Louis had found the text message early that morning, he could no longer get a signal to text or call Harry back. Just thinking about the eloquent words made his heart both ache and swell with love. If Harry had sent him a text in the middle of the night then he had to still be alive, right? It had been four days earlier that he had last received a text from Harry, or anyone else for that matter, and he had lost all belief that even one person he knew or cared about could be alive and well. This text, though, gave him hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, he was not alone in this god forsaken world; hope that maybe the boy he had loved for so long, and who apparently loved him too, was still out there with a beating heart. He knew the only way to find out was to go to California.

After a brief rest and a change of clothes he started preparing to leave Omaha. He knew even if he didn't have anywhere to go that he would have to leave the city soon. Rotting carcasses of its late inhabitants littered the streets and due to the hot summer sun the smell of death in the air was becoming nauseating. He started by going on a search for food and water, despite the fact that Louis had lost his appetite days ago. The hotel kitchen and bar had both been completely cleaned out, except he was able to find a small pot that could be used to boil water or cook some food over a fire. He was surprised that even all the alcohol was long gone. Apparently some patrons decided they may as well drink themselves into a quicker death. He couldn't blame them. The virus had been brutal. It always started with a cough and a fever and within a day or two it was extreme body aches, painful diarrhea, and projectile vomiting. It always ended with the victim falling comatose while the fever cooked their organs. The more the virus spread, the quicker it seemed to kill. Louis had seen hundreds of previously healthy people in the hotel and nearby streets waste away to skeleton like zombies, with dark sunken eyes, dry brittle lips, and clammy skin, in the blink of an eye over the past week. The sound of moaning, hacking, gagging, angry shouts and whispered prayers still echoed in his mind. At the height of suffering in the hotel he had wanted nothing more than silence so he could push away the hellscape surrounding him, but once the silence finally came, as Niall and Joel both took their last breaths the night before, Louis never felt more terrified.

He found some plastic utensils, bottles of water and a few single serving bags of crisps at an abandoned coffee shop a block to the south of the hotel. Then he picked up some beef jerky and candy bars at an auto parts store across the street from the coffee shop. He had hoped, but failed, to find an empty gas can. It appeared gasoline and its accessories had been a hot commodity at the end of the world. When he got back to the hotel, he checked out the tour bus for anything left he might not want to leave behind. He loved the bus. It was his safe place while on tour; familiar in every way, and back when he and Harry were together they would often sleep (amongst other things) on the bus, instead of in their hotel rooms, because it simply felt more private and comfortable. Even after they broke up Louis found himself occasionally sneaking back to the bus to sleep at night. 

Much to his satisfaction he found a perfect sized army green backpack in Zayn's bunk. He unzipped it to find a handful of items: a dark gray beanie, a comb, a lighter, a Rolling Stone magazine (One Direction was featured on page 17), a sketch pad and colored pencils, and a granola bar. He left the beanie, lighter, sketch pad and a couple pencils in the bag while tucking the granola bar in the pocket of his black Adidas shorts. The comb, magazine and most of the pencils he left behind on the empty bunk. He grabbed a few pictures of his family and the other boys, as well as the fleece Doncaster football blanket that he kept in his own bunk and an unopened pack of spearmint flavored gum he found in a cabinet. He had cleared all the food and water out of the bus several days earlier and shared it with others in the hotel. Just as he was about to exit the bus for the last time it occurred to him to check the two storage drawers that slide out under the bottom bunks. The first one was empty save for a lone pillow, but when he pulled open the second one, expecting it to be virtually empty too, he let out an audible gasp: Harry's guitar. 

Louis had bought it for Harry as a gift for his then boyfriend's eighteenth birthday six years ago. After all these years it was the only acoustic guitar Harry owned and whenever Harry played it in front of him, on stage, or on the bus or wherever, it made Louis' stomach flutter with butterflies. Louis ran his right hand down the tan colored case before pulling it out of the large drawer. He opened the case and pulled out the beautiful caramel colored Gibson guitar. It still looked brand new despite how often it had been played and Louis thought it was a testament to how well Harry took care of the things he loved. He sat down on the couch, in the same place where Harry had sat when he told the boys his mother was ill two and half weeks earlier, holding the instrument across his body. He strummed some nonsense for a few minutes before settling on an old Eagles tune, one of Harry's favorites. Peace washing over him for the first time in weeks, he let his voice sing as he played:

 

 _I was standing all alone against the world outside_  
_You were searching for a place to hide_  
_Lost and lonely_  
_Now you've given me the will to survive_  
_When we're hungry_  
_Love will keep us alive_

 _Don't you worry_  
_Sometimes you've just gotta let it ride_  
_The world is changing right before your eyes_  
_Now I've found you_  
_There's no more emptiness inside_  
_When we're hungry_  
_Love will keep us alive_

 _I would die for you_  
_Climb the highest mountain_  
_Baby there's nothing I wouldn't do_

 _Now I've found you_  
_There's no more emptiness inside_  
_When we're hungry_  
_Love will keep us alive_

 _When we're hungry_  
_Love will keep us alive_

 

Louis awoke suddenly around three o'clock the next morning to the smell of smoke. He scrambled outside, in nothing but his navy boxer briefs, to the sidewalk in front of the hotel where he could finally put an image to the scent burning in his nose. Fire lit up the clear night sky. Louis watched from a distance as not one building, not two buildings, but half a dozen buildings only a few blocks north of the hotel went up in flames. There was no explosion or smell of gas in the air, and with no electricity it couldn't be an electrical fire. Could it be the fires were set intentionally? Were there other people alive in the city? Just as he was considering investigating the fires up close, he heard three distinct popping sounds, like firecrackers—or gunshots? 

He wasn't about to wait around and find out as another building started to billow smoke nearby. He ran back into the hotel, up the four flights of stairs, into his suite, and snatched some clothes. He threw on some gray Adidas shorts, a plain white tank top, white socks and his favorite blue Adidas tennis shoes. He grabbed Zayn's backpack that now held some of his own belongings, a map of Nebraska and book of matches (both found near the front desk in the hotel lobby), Niall's iPod, and Liam's pocket knife, along with what he found yesterday. He glanced around the room one last time to make sure he had what he needed and the last thing he grabbed as he walked out the door was Harry's guitar. Slinging the guitar case over one shoulder and the backpack over the other, he exited the Westbridge Hotel through a back door and slid through the shadows of neighboring businesses' parking lots in the sticky humid night before he reached 10th Street and headed south leaving downtown Omaha to burn behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Louis sings Love Will Keep Us Alive by the Eagles in this chapter.


	3. The Journey Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update but I've been really busy lately.
> 
> Also, just a reminder that each chapter has a flashback portion and then a present day portion. Each section is dated with the location to help the reader from getting confused.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! As always I welcome and appreciate all comments and constructive criticism.

Wednesday, June 13, 2018  
St. Louis, Missouri

It had been five days since the band had arrived in St. Louis (Louis insisted to everyone that it's pronounced Saint Loo-ee and not Saint Loo-iss) and to say that things had been chaotic was the understatement of the year. Management were pulling their hair out over Harry's absence and the spread of Superflu throughout the western third of the United States was starting to cause anxiety everywhere in North America. Louis and his bandmates, sans Harry, were mostly just bored. 

The St. Louis show, five days earlier, went well considering the boys had only a few hours to work out who would sing Harry's solos for each song. There were a few hiccups (like when Liam forgot the words to Harry's lines in “No Control”) but otherwise the crowd was great and the fans seemed to enjoy themselves, even if they were disappointed that they wouldn't get to see Harry perform. It probably helped that the fans in St. Louis could focus on seeing Zayn on stage with the band for the first time in over three years. Most of them, not long ago, probably thought they'd never see him join the other boys on stage again, especially after he had two successful solo albums after leaving One Direction. After two solo tours Zayn had realized he missed the other four boys and with Liam's help he was welcomed back with open arms (okay maybe it took Louis a little while longer than the others to make amends with Zayn but soon they were like brothers again).

When they left the stage that night they had expected to board their bus and head to Chicago where they had been scheduled to perform on both Sunday and Tuesday night. Instead they found themselves back in their hotel rooms. Both Chicago shows, along with a show in Minneapolis scheduled for tomorrow the 14th and another scheduled for Friday in Winnipeg were canceled due to Harry being in LA with his ill mother. The plan was to reschedule each of the shows later in the year and management hoped Harry would be back for their more intimate arena show in Omaha, Nebraska on Sunday the 17th. While the boys enjoyed playing stadiums they sometimes felt they were miles away from the fans so they specifically requested that a few smaller arena shows be placed into the tour and the Omaha show was one they were all looking forward to as it was the first of the smaller shows on the schedule.

Louis found himself staring at the television that morning. Word had gotten around the city that One Direction had never left St. Louis and a large group of fans had gathered to stand outside their hotel effectively trapping the boys inside. They went down yesterday afternoon, with their security team, to sign some autographs and take some pictures with the crowd outside. Louis had hoped it would satisfy the fans and the crowd would dissipate, but it seemed like even more people were standing outside this morning. 

“Don't these people even have lives of their own?” Zayn asked as he stared down at the people from the window in Louis' sixth floor room.

“Guess not,” Louis answered, only half listening to his bandmate. An unscheduled news report was flashing across the telly, interrupting the Doctor Who marathon he had been watching. A young female reporter with dark brown shoulder length hair, large hazel eyes and a few freckles spattered across her cheeks was relaying the most up-to-date flu information from the west coast. Several flu victims had died in California and Arizona over the past two days and the illness continued to spread in that region of the country. There were so many sick now that not only could hospitals no longer quarantine the victims, they were running out of available beds for the ill. Sick people in some cities, like San Diego and Phoenix were being asked to stay home and not seek medical care. News reports from Central and South America had virtually come to a complete stop as reporters and doctors there had fallen sick and everyone had been ordered to stay inside their homes. It was being called the 21st Century Plague now in that part of the world and it seemed like maybe even doctors and scientists in North America may not be able to stop the spread even though the CDC kept reassuring everyone that the majority of US and Canadian citizens were not at risk of getting sick with the Superflu.

Louis worried about Harry and his family. Harry had contacted Frank, their tour manager, on Monday with a report that Anne was still in quarantine and her condition was no better than before. He didn't say she was getting worse either, so the boys were holding out hope that maybe she would make a miraculous recovery. Harry and Gemma were staying at Harry's house just outside of LA, receiving updates via telephone from the hospital. Harry had promised he would call in the next few days with another update and Louis felt he was going stir crazy in their hotel waiting for Harry to call.

“I need to get out of here,” he said suddenly, jumping up from his bed and pacing around his room.

“We could go down and order some lunch at the hotel restaurant?” Zayn suggested.

Louis huffed. “No, I mean I need to get out of this bloody hotel and go somewhere. I can't stand being cooped up any longer.”

Louis' blue eyes were met with understanding brown ones. He knew Zayn knew he was worried about Harry even though Louis hadn't murmured more than a few words all morning and he knew that was why Zayn hadn't left his side for more than a few minutes at a time over the past few days. He even slept on the small couch in Louis' room the past two nights. Well, Zayn fell asleep watching the telly both nights, but Louis was pretty certain he purposely did it so Lou wouldn't have to be alone if Harry called with bad news.

“I'll talk to Liam and Niall and see if we can't sneak out of here for a bit this evening,” Zayn answered turning back to look out the window at the St. Louis skyline.

Louis grabbed Zayn in a big hug from behind. “Thanks, mate!” Zayn chuckled despite being unable to hardly breathe due to Louis' arms squeezing him so tight. 

“You're welcome,” Zayn's voice was strained. “Lou—can't breathe.”

Louis let out a small giggle, almost childlike in it's nature, as he finally released his arms from around Zayn's middle. “Sorry. Guess I got carried away.”

“No problem, bro. We all could use a night out and I promise you we'll get one.” 

 

Later that evening Zayn made good on his promise as the boys slipped out a back entrance of the hotel into a waiting black SUV with tinted windows. It was just after sunset and the fans who were mostly hanging out near the front entrance couldn't see the four lads as the vehicle drove past them. Louis wasn't surprised, as he settled into the seat behind the driver, that Mitch, one of the band's security guards, a tall burly black haired man with a goatee and tan skin was driving because Zayn and Mitch had grown fairly close over the past several months and frankly the guy was a bit of a pushover. 

They drove for about twenty minutes before they stopped outside of a club named Tilt. Mitch led them straight inside and it was immediately clear to Louis that it was probably one of the more upscale clubs in the St. Louis Metro area. It was packed with people, although there was still reasonable room to move around near the sides of the massive dance floor. Everything in the club followed a particular color scheme. There were large black leather couches along one wall of the biggest room and along the opposite wall were round black tables with red leather upholstered bar stools. Up some steps beyond the dance floor was another slightly smaller room with a huge red bar boasting a jet black counter top. The length of the bar was lined with black upholstered bar stools. There were four bartenders, each dressed in a black suit with a red tie. The rooms were dark and florescent red lights flashed as the music thumped and the crowd jumped up in down in unison. A large disco ball hung from the ceiling above the center of the dance floor, although it wasn't currently flashing. 

Louis and his three bandmates all squeezed their way through the crowd until they found an empty table with three stools. Niall grabbed an empty stool from another table and took a seat next to Louis. Zayn and Liam volunteered to get some drinks for everyone and after a few minutes Zayn returned with three vodka tonics.

“Where's Liam?” Niall asked, clearly surprised to see Zayn return to the table alone.

Zayn nodded in the direction of the bar with a cheesy grin. “Flirting with that bird over there.”

Louis turned to look and sure enough there was Liam in full conversation with a mocha skinned beauty near the bar. He couldn't help but smile toward his friend because it hadn't been that long ago that Liam was completely awkward trying to flirt with a stranger. Since the hiatus, however, he seemed to have found his groove with the ladies and now he was giving Zayn a run for his money when it came to the title of “ladies man” in the band. 

After a couple shots of whiskey, Zayn found a pretty blonde haired girl to dance with and Niall was dancing with a group of ladies, some of whom Louis suspected were One Direction fans, while Louis sat watching them fondly from the table. He felt the buzz of the alcohol in his body as he spun his shot glass around on the table with his right hand.

“Hi,” he startled at the sound of the voice behind him. He turned to see large aquamarine colored eyes staring at him. 

“Hello.” He responded in a friendly tone, despite the fact he wasn't really in the mood for socializing with strangers.

“You look bored and I thought maybe you would like some company?” The girl smiled and Louis couldn't help but smile in return. She was pretty with soft wavy brown hair that fell a couple inches below her shoulders. She was shorter than him and she wore a little black dress that clinged to her curves in all the right places, along with high heeled black leather boots that stopped just above her knee and below the hemline of her dress. 

“Um—sure—have a seat,” he stuttered a bit, inwardly feeling idiotic over being nervous about talking to a girl he's not interested in beyond a little conversation. 

“Oh, cute and has an accent,” the girl teased with a flirtatious smile and Louis could feel his cheeks turn a shade of red in response, surprised that she was unaware of his celebrity status. She sat down in the chair to Louis' right, previously occupied by Niall. “I'm Lizzie,” she said while offering her hand for a shake.

“Louis,” he answered back while shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you, Lizzie. Are you from around here?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I'm from a small town just north of the city, but I just got back from school this morning for summer break. I go to Stanford in California, along with my best friend Shae whose dancing with that hot guy in the red t-shirt and tight black jeans.” She pointed toward her friend and Louis turned to see it was the same girl Liam had been chatting up at the bar earlier. Now they were dancing provocatively close to some remix of a Rihanna song. “We thought about staying in Cali for the summer but the whole flu thing out there is freaking people out so we decided to come home instead.”

There was an awkward silence that lasted a minute or two before Lizzie finally spoke again. “So why's a hot guy like you hanging his head in the middle of the most rockin' club in the entire city of St. Louis, maybe the entire state of Missouri?”

Louis, who had previously been staring down at the table, looked up to meet her eyes; green pools so similar in color to Harry's that it gave him a tight feeling of longing in his chest. He wanted to dismiss her and tell her to find someone else to hit on, but he could see an actual real interest in her eyes. There was something trustworthy behind those sea colored orbs.

“It's a long story.”

“Well, sweetie, I've got all night, if you feel like talking about it.” Her smile was genuine.

“Trust me it'll just put you to sleep, love.” Louis argued, not trying to sound flirty, but by the change in Lizzie's face he thought it may have come off that way.

“Is it a girl? Did she break your heart?” 

Louis shook his head and looked down as he fiddled with his thumbs on the tabletop. “Not exactly.”

He could feel her stare bore into him for a long while before she let out a small gasp. “Wait! Do you bat for the other team? Is it a _guy_ who is making you miserable?”

Louis couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at her sudden epiphany. “I bat for _both_ teams just so you know.” Her eyes glimmered at him in response. “But yes, it's a bloke, and actually _I_ broke _his_ heart three years ago.”

He watched as her face formed into a slight grimace, a vertical line forming above her nose and her eyes slanting. “So you're telling me that you broke up with this dude a long time ago and yet you're the one drowning your sorrows over some shot glasses in a club three years later?”

A huffed sound escaped through his nose and he nodded in response with raised eyebrows, his jaw tight and mouth closed in a straight line.

“Let me guess, he's moved on and you haven't and you can't deal with it? You realized you're still in love with him?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Louis agreed.

Lizzie reached across and took Louis' left hand in her right hand, holding it loosely on the tabletop. “So where is this guy now? Does he have someone else or does he like playing the field? Is he still in your life?”

Louis laughed out loud at her eagerness to learn about his love life. “What are you my relationship therapist?”

“I'm a love guru,” she answered with a nod and a wink of her left eye.

“Right,” Louis responded in a sarcastic tone while rolling his own eyes.

“It's true,” Lizzie argued. “Just ask Shae. I'm known for solving my friends' relationship problems.”

“Is that so?” She nodded again. “What about your own love life? You're sitting here with me right now wanting to solve my relationship problems, but where's your knight in shining armor if you're so good at this whole love thing?”

He felt her hand squeeze his a little tighter. “Well,” she started slowly staring straight into his eyes, barely speaking loud enough for Louis to hear above the loud music, “I was hoping you might be him when I saw you from across the room earlier.”

Louis felt the heat in his cheeks and knew he was blushing at her honest admission. He broke eye contact with her and looked down at where their hands were laced together on the table. Lizzie was lovely. Truly. She was attractive, kind, charming, funny and in the right circumstances he would've been interested in dating her. It wasn't like he had been celibate since his break up with Harry. There had been some short term drunken flings with women, mostly ones who were closet fans and wanted him for their own five minutes of fame, but none of them ever really mattered to him. They were an easy shag, and as much as he chastised himself for using them, they served as a much needed distraction for him, especially in the worst of times. He knew he could probably get pissed and drag Lizzie back to his hotel room for the night; give her the best fuck she's ever had or ever will have, and then send her on her way afterward. Surely she'd figure out before long that she'd had sex with a pop star. It would be a story she could tell for the rest of her life. He wouldn't though. Louis liked her too much. He couldn't use her like he had used other girls. Plus, he couldn't get his mind off Harry long enough tonight to even consider having relations with anyone else.

“Sorry, love.” He raised his blue eyes back up to meet her green ones as he released her hand from his own. “I'm not him, but whomever he is will be bloody lucky to have you.”

He watched a pink color break out on her cheeks at his compliment. “Thanks,” she admonished. “So, tell me about this guy you broke up with three years ago and why you're still in love with him.”

Louis wanted to tell her. He wanted to admit to everything that had happened between he and Harry over the past eight years, wanted to blurt it all out and shed the tears he always held back, but he knew he couldn't. It was too risky and heaven knows he had already taken enough risk by admitting to her he was bisexual. Larry Stylinson, the name One Direction fans had given Harry and Louis' bromance (or romance as some accurately believed), was the big dark secret of the band, and even though the romance part of it ended years ago, both Harry and Louis were unable to fully admit their sexual orientations to the public at the insistence of their management. Apparently two gay members in the same boyband could negatively impact record and tour sales and therefore ruin their careers. Louis didn't care about his own career, but he did care about Harry's, and they both cared about their bandmates' futures in the music business. So they kept quiet and publicly dated women, both while they were together romantically and after, with Harry having had a relatively serious year long relationship with swimsuit model Ella Swanson during the band's hiatus. They broke up just as the band started writing and recording the new album the previous summer. Louis had been relieved that he wouldn't have to see Ella hanging around the studio because the few times he had been in the same room with Harry and Ella together had been agonizing for him. Thankfully, the other boys were supportive and tried their best to distract him from the overbearing cuteness (or gag fest if you asked him) of “Swyles” as the media referred to Harry and his gal pal. Since the band had reunited, however, both Louis and Harry had remained single and to the best of Louis' knowledge had not even had any brief flings or one night stands.

“Sorry, I can't tell you,” he answered after a long pause. “I want to, but I really can't and maybe someday you'll understand why.”

Lizzie's face fell into a look of confusion for just a moment before her lips curled into a smile once again. “It's okay. I get it. So how about we just forget about everything and hit the dance floor?” She held out her hand as an invitation.

For the first time in days Louis felt some weight lift from his shoulders. He accepted Lizzie's hand and was led into the crowd where for the better part of the next hour he was lost in the music, lost in the movement, and lost in the familiarity of the eyes of the laughing girl dancing next to him. 

When the boys arrived back at their hotel just after two in the morning, Frank was waiting with a not-too-happy look on his face. He didn't say anything about them sneaking out to go clubbing, but they could hear the disapproval in his voice when he did speak to them.

“Pack your stuff up boys. We're leaving for Omaha at 7 o'clock in the morning sharp.”

Louis groaned out loud. “That's in less than five hours.”

“Damn straight,” Frank replied with a stern look. “I expect to see all of you on the bus on time or there will be no more fun time in the future.”

They all got the message and dispersed to their rooms. Louis hurried to pack his belongings before climbing into bed and falling fast asleep. When he woke four hours later he quickly showered, dressed, and grabbed a blueberry muffin the hotel offered as part of its continental breakfast program before climbing aboard the tour bus. 

They arrived at their hotel in Omaha around two-thirty in the afternoon. It was only Thursday and their show was scheduled for Sunday so fans weren't expecting them to arrive until at least Saturday. It gave the boys enough freedom to explore a local mall for a couple hours before word got out that they had been spotted there and fans started to show up. So they picked up some McDonald's and returned to the hotel for the rest of the evening. After watching the latest Avengers movie on HBO in Niall's room, Louis decided to turn in early. He said his goodnights to the other lads, reassuring them that he would be okay by himself, and headed back to his own room.

Louis was jolted awake a couple hours later by the sound of his phone. The ringtone, The Script's "If You Ever Come Back," told him it was Harry calling. He slapped the nightstand in the dark a few times before finally reaching his phone.

“Haz?” he answered with a groggy voice, despite being suddenly alert.

There was silence for a few seconds before he heard a sob followed by a shaky sorrowful deep voice on the other end.

“Lou, she's gone.”  
\--------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, June 26, 2018  
Eastern Nebraska

Sweat rolled down his face and soaked through his white tank top in the early morning sun; the smell of death mixed with the smoke in the humid air permeated his lungs, and for the first time since he watched Zayn take his last breath days earlier, he gagged, emptying what little was in his stomach onto the cement road upon which he was standing. 

“Shit,” he repeated a few times leaning over himself, his hands on his knees, waiting to move until he knew his stomach wasn't going to start lurching again.

It was early morning; the sun just peeking over the eastern horizon and Louis had just reached the interstate on the south edge of Omaha. He had hoped that he would be able to find an abandoned vehicle near or on the interstate with enough fuel in it to get him several hours closer to California. Instead what he found were wall-to-wall cars, filled with baking bodies; people who had died in their vehicles while trying to leave the city. As it turns out, many families abandoned their homes and tried to flee the flu. Most headed toward the mountains in Colorado or searched for seclusion in the vast expanses of Wyoming, Montana, or the Dakotas. Some were probably just trying to get home to their families. Louis had a feeling that the majority didn't get very far. For miles, all he could see were automobiles in every lane of the highway going both directions. His heart had sunk when he realized that he would have to continue his journey on foot. 

He rested for only a few minutes, sitting on the trunk of an older red Toyota Camry, careful not to let the part of his thighs that were not covered by his shorts touch the hot metal beneath him. Pulling a bottle of water out of Zayn's backpack, he took a few gulps of the liquid, pausing after each swallow to make sure he would keep it down. Then he hopped down and started west on I-80, one step at a time he moved closer to his destination.

He walked the entire morning and most of the afternoon, a total of nearly ten miles, before he came upon a huge pile-up of cars crossing both lanes of the interstate. Clearly the accident was the cause of the stopped traffic in the west bound lane where he had been weaving in and out of stopped automobiles. He tried not to look inside the vehicles, some of which were heavily damaged. One car was completely obliterated after having been hit by a semi truck. Still, he felt like the eyes of the dead trapped behind their glass and metal coffins were staring at him and it creeped him out. Louis couldn't even imagine why people who had already fallen ill were in such denial that they still tried to escape the city with their families. Judging by the scene that surrounded him, some had clearly been too sick or too delusional to drive.

Beyond the accident the west bound lanes were clear. Louis sat down cross-legged on the side of the road once he made his way through the wreck and pulled out a bag of salt and vinegar flavored crisps. Alone he ate and took a few sips of water, under the huge cumulus clouds that had formed and provided some much needed shade. He took in the view around him and pondered if there was anyone else staring up at the same Nebraska sky right now. He hadn't seen even one breathing soul since before Niall passed away two days earlier, although he still suspected the fires in Omaha had been intentionally set. Why? Why did he have to be left behind? Why was he immune and no one else seemed to be? He couldn't grasp it in his mind; the desolation of the world, the loss of everyone he ever loved or probably ever even met. He thought about Lizzie whom he met in the club in St. Louis two weeks earlier, about the fans at the concert in Indianapolis and every other show that came before over the past eight years, about all his classmates at school growing up, about his extended family. Had any of them survived? So many of them were more deserving of life than him, but then again life in this world wasn't a gift. It was hell and Louis Tomlinson had already thought he knew about living hell, but clearly he had been wrong, because he would take all those years of being closeted back if he could just see his family and friends again. The emptiness and pain he had to carry with him now, the memories of watching his bandmates and so many others deteriorate into zombie looking beings as the virus roasted their insides, the helplessness and guilt he felt as he watched them suffer and die one-by-one, the excruciation of every heartbreaking text and phone call he received from his family and friends back home as they fell ill; none of it would ever leave him. It would likely eat away at his mind and his heart for however much time he had left on the planet. He wanted to quit. Again he thought about just ending it all, but he couldn't because of that damned curly headed green eyed boy that he met in the bloody loo eight years ago. 

Deep down Louis knew that he was probably chasing a ghost by going to California. He knew Harry had been healthy five days ago when they had last texted back and forth, but the odds that he was still well when Louis received his last text yesterday morning was miniscule. He recited the words over and over again in his mind: _I don't know if you're still there, but I love you Lou. I always have and I will be in love with you until I take my last breath and even beyond that._

Were these the last words of a dying man? Had he sent them to Louis because he knew his last breath was near? Was he half delirious when he sent the text and didn't even know what he said? Or was it possible that Harry was alive and well and feared Louis was dying or dead? Did he send the love declaration in hopes of easing his probably dying former lover's mind? Was the boy he loved out there somewhere, staring up at the California sky with the same questions in his own mind?

He ran his hands through his sweat soaked brown hair and sighed. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally, but he knew he had to keep moving, keep soldiering on. Pushing himself up off the ground, he stretched his arms and back before picking up Zayn's backpack and Harry's guitar from the ground and slinging both over his shoulders. Ten minutes later, Louis finally got a break: an abandoned car, a silver Chevy Impala, on the side of the road, keys sitting on the driver's seat. He placed his gear in the passenger seat and sat himself down behind the steering wheel. Saying a silent prayer to any god that would listen he placed the key in the ignition and gently turned it. His prayer was answered when the engine roared to life easily. He breathed a sigh of relief. The gas tank was almost half full which could get him into Colorado if the road remained clear. 

Thirteen miles. Thirteen miles was all the further he got before he drove up on another massive pile up of cars. There was no way to get around it without leaving the car behind and walking. The entire grass median was full of vehicles and there was a large fence separating the road from a large field of knee high stalks of corn on his right hand side. To make matters worse the sky was beginning to darken in the distance and the occasional sound of thunder could be heard. Louis lightly pounded his head over and over on the steering wheel with a groan. Stay in the car or try to find shelter? Where there's a cornfield there must be a farm somewhere relatively close. He could see power poles about a half mile to his northwest and that was all the convincing he needed to make a run for it instead of being stuck in a vehicle during a potentially dangerous Nebraska thunderstorm. 

Unfortunately, trying to get to the road ahead meant climbing over a barbwire fence which wasn't exactly Louis' expertise. He threw the backpack over the fence and then attempted to climb over with the guitar case slung over his right shoulder. Just as he thought he made it, the right leg of his shorts got caught on a barb. His left foot was on the ground but he was practically doing the splits as he tried to untangle his shorts from the wire with his right hand as his other hand gripped the top of the fence for leverage. The guitar slipped off his back and to the soft soil below as he struggled. Finally as the rain started to fall from the dark sky above, he yanked his right leg toward his chest, ripping his shorts, but also tearing his skin beneath. He fell to his bum as he let out a cry of pain.

“Fuck!” He yelled out to no one but the approaching storm. Bringing his left hand to his right thigh he saw red liquid and knew he had to find shelter soon. Questioning why he ever left the car, he limped through the now muddy cornfield until he reached the gravel country road. The road reached a dead end at the interstate to his left, so he had no choice but to go right. Thankfully he was certain he could see a barn in the distance. It was probably a mile walk, which wouldn't be easy in the storm with an injured leg, but just the thought of shelter gave him some extra energy.

He was soaked to the core as the ice pellets and hard rain pounded his skin leaving red marks behind. His left thigh ached and he could feel the blood pouring out of his wound only to be washed away by the deluge of water falling from the sky. Thunder boomed overhead and lightning came down in bright streaks all around him. The trees looked like they were about to be uprooted by the wind as he finally reached the door of an old two story white farmhouse that sat about 50 feet beyond the barn he had seen from a distance. Even after touring all over the world, Louis wasn't used to the severe weather found in the middle portion of the States during the spring and summer months. He was man enough to admit the wind, hail, lightning and loud thunder was fascinating, but also more than a little scary. 

As he stepped into the house, he was relieved to not be hit with the smell of corpses, but only the smell of some rotting meat in the freezer and refrigerator. It was early evening and despite the storm brewing outside there was still just enough light inside the house that Louis didn't need to use his flashlight. After kicking off his soggy muddy shoes, he inspected each room on both floors and found no bodies. He counted it as one small blessing in a land of never ending curses. This would be his shelter for the night. He stripped off his tank top and his ripped shorts and underwear, leaving him, wet, naked and shivering. He hung his wet clothes over the wooden staircase banister in hopes they would dry overnight. Blood continued to stream out of his thigh wound. Quickly he made his way to the downstairs bathroom in search of medical supplies. The wound, he thought, might be big enough that in the normal world it would require a few stitches, however, Louis saw nothing with which he could sew his cut shut, so he settled for just antibiotic ointment and a large band-aid. He packed the rest of the box of band-aids, the ointment, and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide away in the backpack. Then he limped to the only downstairs bedroom, which he assumed from the furnishings was the master bedroom, and found a large red and white Nebraska Cornhuskers t-shirt to wear. All of the former man-of-the-house's boxers and pants were far too big for him, so he found a pair of light gray lady's sweatpants in another dresser and slid them over his legs. They were slightly short but that was the last of his concerns.

His stomach growled for what felt like the first time in days and he knew that one bag of crisps wouldn't be enough to sustain him for long, especially when he had burned so many calories walking all day. He made his way to the kitchen. It was exactly the kind of kitchen you would imagine to find in an old farmhouse. White cupboards and drawers with blue and white checkerboard curtains over both windows and a tablecloth that matched them. The rectangular shaped table itself was made of a light colored wood and the six chairs that were tucked around were made of the same wood, but their legs and high arching backs were painted white. The appliances were all older and white in color as well, except for the royal blue colored stand mixer sitting in one corner of the long counter. On two small decorative shelves were a collection of rooster figurines. Locating a can of chicken noodle soup in one cupboard, Louis was thrilled to find the gas stove still working inside the kitchen. He heated the soup up in a small pot and then snuggled into one corner of the rose and cornflower colored floral patterned living room couch to eat, pulling a lightweight throw blanket that had a picture of a lighthouse on it over his body.

As quickly as the storm arrived, it left, and the sun peaked out low in the western sky from behind the last of the rain clouds. Louis stepped outside onto the front porch after finishing his soup. It was still sprinkling and to the east was a brilliantly vibrant rainbow. Louis couldn't help but smile at the expanse of the multicolored arch in the sky. The rainbow was a symbol that had long resonated with him, with Harry, and with their fans, many of whom had struggled with their own sexual identities at the same time Louis had been struggling with his own. Harry had always taken the approach of not labeling himself, even when he was just an innocent kid of sixteen. All he cared about was what he felt for someone else. It didn't matter what gender the person identified as, Harry only cared about their heart and how they made him feel inside. Louis had always admired that about him and it was part of what made Louis fall in love with him in the first place. 

He remained on the porch until the rainbow faded away several minutes later and he pondered as he stepped back inside if the rainbow was God's promise that he would never destroy the world with a plague again, like how in the Old Testament a rainbow appeared to Noah after the great flood. Perhaps it was God telling him that Harry was out there and they would be together again. All he knew is that he suddenly felt a little more at peace and for that he was thankful to at least Mother Nature. 

The next hour was spent rummaging through the contents of the house, looking for anything useful for the trip ahead. He found another can of soup, a few cans of vegetables, a box of macaroni and cheese, and two cans of ginger ale in the kitchen. All of the other food had gone bad. He grabbed a Stephen King book off a shelf in the living room since he figured he'd have plenty of time to catch up on his reading and he took a bottle of Advil from the bathroom medicine cabinet. He didn't have anymore room in the backpack so he gave up on finding anything else because if he was going to be walking instead of driving he would have to limit how much he carries with him. 

A couple hours after sunset Louis laid down on the couch with the lighthouse throw and Niall's iPod and let his mind drift to visions of green eyes and dimples and long chestnut curls as the sound of a deep raspy voice drifted into his ears. He imagined pressing his chest against a muscular back, wrapping his arms around the most perfect torso, and running his hands along ripped butterfly tattooed abs. Slowly he drifted off to sleep with a slight smile still on his face. The worries of his journey could wait until tomorrow. 


	4. Here at the End of the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, flashback followed by present day in the chapter.
> 
> Also, there's some texting in this chapter. Louis' texts are in bold. Harry's are in italics. 
> 
> There's also some italics used for Louis' thoughts. They are separate from the texts so it shouldn't be confusing.
> 
> Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I'm a mom and my kids keep me busy most of the time in the summer. I'll try to get the next one up quicker. I do have the story outlined now and I think it will end up being somewhere in the 13 to 15 chapter range.
> 
> As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome and appreciated! I hope you enjoy! :)

Wednesday, June 13, 2018  
Omaha, Nebraska

 

“Lou, she's gone.” Harry's choked words echoed in Louis' mind for a few seconds before he could pull himself together enough to respond.

“Oh my god, Harry—I'm—I'm so sorry.” His own words coming out rough from sleep, yet with a genuinely shocked and sympathetic tone. Tears immediately sprung up behind his eyes, threatening to fall with each sniff he heard on the other end of the line. 

“I didn't even get to see her or talk to her,” Harry continued. “She suffered and died alone, Lou, and knowing that is the worst part, you know?”

“I know,” Louis whispered back, the first tear streaming down his right cheek, “but she knew that you and Gemma loved her and would've been there if you could've been. I promise you she knew that Harry. She loved you both so much.”

Louis' chest felt tight as he heard Harry's quiet sobs on the other end of the line. He didn't know what to say, because what do you say to someone in that situation? What do you say to someone who was as close to their mother as Harry had always been? Anne hadn't just been Harry's mum, she was practically his best friend, and Louis could relate to that with his own mum. If the situation had been reversed he'd be devastated and no amount of comforting words would help alleviate the pain. If only he could reach out through the phone and wrap his arms around the distraught boy whose red cheeks and puffy tearful eyes he could visualize in his mind.

“We aren't even going to be able to send her body home for burial.” Harry finally spoke again, his deep voice a quiet murmur. “They're cremating her today, which they've done for all the flu victims. I'm not even sure if we'll get her ashes to scatter. The hospitals are all overrun here; turning away sick people. No one seems to know what's going on and it's terrifying. There were reports of looting in some areas of the city. People are shutting themselves in their homes or trying to get out of the city and head east.”

“Fuck,” Louis swore in astonishment, “it sounds even worse than what the news channels and the CDC are saying on the telly. Maybe you and Gem should get out of LA while you can.”

“Yeah, we're just waiting for the coroner to release Mum's…,” Harry's voice broke and Louis felt his throat tighten in an attempt to hold back a sob himself as Harry tried to regain composure, “...Mum's remains and then we're flying home. I just want to be home again. Our real home you know?”

Tears rolled down Louis' cheeks and onto his bare chest. “Yeah,” he breathed, knowing exactly what Harry meant and it made his heart flutter a little when he heard Harry call it _our_ home instead of _my_ home because it was in fact the house they both had shared for three years, located between their hometowns of Holmes Chapel and Doncaster. The spacious brick two-story home had originally belonged to Louis, his first big purchase after becoming a multimillionaire at the age of twenty. Harry had moved into the house along with him, after they had lived in a London flat together for a year prior. The fact that they lived together at Louis' house had remained a secret to the public back then, although they knew some fans suspected it, and when they broke up in early 2015 it was Louis who left Harry and their home behind. He moved back to London, not far from Liam, while Harry split his time between Louis' house and his own house near Los Angeles. Eventually the paperwork was completed to give Harry the deed to the house without the information being released publicly. The longer Louis had been separated from the residence, the more he seemed to miss it. His abode in London was nice, comfortable even, but it wasn't home, not like the other house had been. It warmed his heart to know Harry considered it his home too. “I think that's probably best for you both.”

An awkward silence fell between them. Louis hated it. He wished they could be as comfortable with each other as they used to be, but he knew that was unlikely to happen. There wasn't such a thing as awkwardness back then. They had fit together like puzzle pieces, like peanut butter and jelly, like two peas in a pod and now they were like two buoys floating in the sea, attached to the same rope, always in sight of each other, yet distant, never able to touch. It was his fault, the awkwardness, and there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't remind himself of the mistake he made the moment he walked out the door of their home and left that beautiful curly haired boy with a broken heart. A mistake, because three years later Harry's heart had healed and loved again, while Louis' was irreparably broken.

Harry finally cleared his throat before speaking. “Lou, what's going to happen with the tour while I'm not there?”

Louis sighed and took a deep breath to settle his aching mind. “I don't know. We're in Omaha now and I don't know if management will force us to continue without you or not. I imagine Frank has a plan in place for the situation at hand so you should probably call him and let him know about your mum so he can figure everything out.”

“Yeah, I should,” Louis heard hesitation in Harry's voice. “I will.”

“Okay.” Louis responded. “Haz?”

“Yeah?”

“I wish I could be there with you right now. Wish I could be there with you when you fly back home.” The truthful words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even realize what he was saying and instant regret was starting to sink in when Harry didn't respond right away.

“Thanks,” Harry murmured, barely audible to Louis' ears. “I wish you were here too. Actually I wish I was there in Omaha and everything was okay.”

“Me too.”

“Louis?” 

“Hmm?”

“I know this probably sounds strange, but Gemma finally fell asleep and I'm all alone so could you just talk to me for awhile?” Harry asked timidly.

“Talk about what?” Louis asked, perplexed. What could Harry possibly find interesting at a time like this?

“Anything,” Harry's deep rasp sighed into his right ear causing Louis to lose his breath for a split second. “I just need to hear your voice right now.”

 

Thursday was spent notifying the other boys about Anne's passing and meeting with Frank about the future of the tour. Louis had spent the night tossing and turning after he literally talked Harry to sleep, filling him in on the boys' night out in St. Louis, what was going on with his own family, and his frustration with being stuck on the same level of Candy Crush Soda for more than a week. The sounds of the other boy's light snores in his ear had served as a reminder of how Harry used to fall asleep in their bed or on the couch while waiting for Louis to come home after spending time with his fake girlfriend (management had insisted Louis needed a girlfriend to help hide his sexuality and his real relationship with his bandmate), a book spread open on his chest, snores emitting from his half closed mouth and puffs of air through his nose. Louis would just stand and watch him sleep for a few minutes, feeling butterflies in his stomach at how innocent and beautiful his lover looked in such a state. He would quietly strip off his own clothes, because god knows he didn't want Harry to smell _her_ on him, and snuggle up beside his boyfriend without disturbing him, burrowing into the crook of Harry's arm, the sound of the noises leaving the other boy's mouth and nose lulling him into a deep sleep.

Louis was embarrassed by how long he laid there listening to Harry sleep. Eventually he hung up, fearing that Harry would wake up and realize that Louis was creepily still on the other end of the line. After three hours of restless sleep, he decided to wake up Liam, Zayn and Niall and break the bad news to them. Not long after, Penelope dropped in to let them know they were expected to meet Frank for a breakfast meeting in the hotel restaurant downstairs in twenty minutes at half seven. 

Soon Louis was dressed in black skinny jeans, a gray Rolling Stones t-shirt, and black Toms and was sat at a large round table with a violet colored vase full of yellow lilies in the center. Frank sat on Louis' left, while Niall was on his right and the rest of the dark wooden chairs were filled by Zayn, Liam, Penelope, and Sean, their music director. Frank wasted no time getting down to business. He had spoken to Harry and decided that the Omaha show on Sunday would go on without Harry, followed by a show in Oklahoma City on Tuesday. The rest of the June and July tour dates would be postponed and hopefully rescheduled for later in the summer or the early fall, both due to Harry's situation, as well as the overall flu situation in North America. The Australian tour set for October would go on as planned. 

As much as Louis and his bandmates hated disappointing their fans, there was a universal sigh of relief when they realized they wouldn't have to play more than two more shows without Harry. Mostly they just wanted to go home and be with their loved ones. They just hoped the fans would be understanding.

After the meeting the boys gathered in Liam's hotel room to hang out. Like always, a group of fans had gathered outside the hotel, although not as many as in St. Louis, and they didn't feel like sneaking out for some fun given the sad circumstances of the day. 

“Hey check this out!” Niall exclaimed from the arm chair where he was sitting with his laptop. Liam and Zayn were sitting at the head of the bed with their backs against the headboard watching some home renovation show on HGTV. Louis was sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, his bare feet flat on the floor and knees pulled up to his chest, playing a game on his phone.

“What?” Liam asked.

“There's people posting goodbye videos to their loved ones on YouTube.” Niall answered.

“Goodbye videos?” Louis didn't comprehend what Niall was saying.

“Here, look.” Niall handed the laptop to Louis and Zayn and Liam stretched out on their stomachs at the foot of the bed to look over Louis' shoulder.

Louis read the title of the video, “Matt and Lindsey Say Goodbye,” and clicked the play button. He gasped when he saw a young couple, probably about the same age as him, sitting on a cream colored leather couch, their faces obviously flush with fever, dark circles under their sunken eyes. The girl, Lindsey he presumed, was wearing a black University of Arizona tank top, while Matt was shirtless, his dark chest hair filled with beads of sweat. He listened as they told their family and friends back home in Pennsylvania that they were sick with the flu, told them they were turned away from every hospital because they were all overflowing with patients, and told them goodbye and that they loved them because they knew they were dying and they would see them in the next life. By the time the video ended all of the boys were trying to hide the tears in their eyes. 

Louis cleared his throat. “That's what Hazza said it was like in LA too. Said it was crazy there and that the hospitals were turning people away.”

“That's not the only video like this either,” Niall added. “There's hundreds of them, mostly from the States, but a few from Mexico and South America too.”

“What if it keeps spreading east?” Liam asked with a worried tone. “Or spreads to other continents? I mean, it is possible, right?”

They all sat silent while pondering Liam's questions. Finally Zayn spoke while squeezing Liam's shoulder. “Nah,” he shook his head. “They'll create a vaccine or find a cure or stop it somehow before it comes to that.”

Everyone nodded in agreement before Niall jumped onto the bed and started a game of tickle torture with Liam and Zayn. Louis jumped into the fray and before long they were all wrestling on the bed and trying to knock one another off while laughing so hard they couldn't breathe. Pillows were flying everywhere and the comforter had been thrown into a distant corner of the room. It was silly for four grown men to behave in such a way, they all knew, but in a world where they often found themselves like animals caged in a zoo, it was childish and goofy moments like this that helped them all keep their sanity. They chose to continue making music and performing and wouldn't give it up for anything, but sometimes it all could get so overwhelming for even the toughest lad, and relying on their friendships with one another kept them all in a good place emotionally most days. In the past there had been times when they had let everything get to them too much and hadn't realized when one member might be struggling. Louis had chastised himself internally many times over for not realizing how miserable Zayn had become before leaving the band in the spring of 2015 and he knew at least Liam had placed blame on himself too. This time around they both were determined to make sure they were all happy and content while on tour.

Their tickle wrestling time was over when Louis and Liam successfully managed to simultaneously push Zayn and Niall onto the floor below.

“Lilo, for the win!” Louis shouted out-of-breath as he gave Liam a high five. 

“Yeah, well just wait. Ziall will get our revenge when you least expect it,” Niall retorted with the point of his left index finger aimed in Louis' direction. 

“Ooo, I'm soooo scared,” Louis' answered sarcastically, his voice full of feigned fear. He held his palms out in front of his body and wiggled his fingers in a ghost-like manner. As soon as he dropped his hands, his face was met with the hard smack of a pillow, drawing a laugh from everyone, even Louis himself.

All of the wrestling led to hungry tummies so the boys decided to order pizza for dinner and they all figured a FIFA X-box tournament would be the perfect distraction from the worries of the outside world, at least for one night. They were right.

Around midnight, Louis retired to his own room (only after reassuring Zayn once again that he would be okay by himself), as did Niall, leaving Zayn and Liam behind to finish their FIFA match. He stripped off his t-shirt and jeans and snuggled under his comforter and sheet in just his blue striped boxer briefs, laying flat on his back. He checked his phone where one text from his sister Lottie, about Harry's mum, had been missed. He quickly sent a response back, knowing she was sleeping back home in England, before he contemplated sending a text to Harry before going to sleep himself. It was two hours earlier in California, so he figured Harry was probably still awake, but he couldn't muster up the nerve. So he turned off the bedside lamp and after a half an hour or so of letting his mind wander to a distant past when his world was made of innocence he drifted off.

He awoke a few hours later to pounding on his door and the sound of Zayn shouting his name.

“Louis! Louis! Wake up!” 

Louis rolled over and looked at the time on his phone that was laying on the bedside table.

“It's bloody four in the morning,” he mumbled as he heard more pounding at his door.

“Lou, come on! Wake up!” Zayn yelled again.

“Coming!” Louis answered as loud as he could get his voice to come out while barely awake. He flipped on the bedside lamp, crossed the room while his eyes tried to adjust to the light, and turned the doorknob. Zayn pushed his way inside with no hesitation.

“What's going on?” Louis asked incredulously. It wasn't like Zayn to be screaming around or to be so pushy.

“Liam's sick, Lou.”

“What?”

“He's sick.”

“Sick how?” Louis questioned. “He was fine a few hours ago! Is it food poisoning or summat?”

Zayn shook his head. “No. I fell asleep in his bed watching some show on Animal Planet and the next thing I know I'm waking up to the sound of Liam moaning in his sleep.” Louis raised his eyebrows a little at the thought of Liam making moaning noises in his sleep while sharing a bed with Zayn. Their bromance was strong but he was pretty sure his two mates weren't screwing around in secret. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter Tomlinson!” Zayn rolled his eyes. “Not moaning like that! I mean like painful moaning. I sat up and tried to shake his shoulder to wake him up and he wouldn't open his eyes. So I leaned in closer and that's when I felt it.”

“Felt what?” Louis asked, cocking his head to the left to study Zayn's facial expressions.

“Heat,” Zayn answered, his dark eyes locked into Louis' light ones. “Heat coming off of Li's body in waves. He was burning up Lou!”

“Okay, so he has a fever, but he's going to be fine, right?” Louis' question came out half strangled as he felt his throat closing up from anxiety.

Zayn dropped his gaze to the floor. “I don't know. I shook him awake and he just looked so sick, so I woke up Frank and they called the tour medic.” He paused for a second before continuing. “What's her name again?”

“Kayla, I think.”

“Yeah, Kayla.” Zayn finally brought his eyes back up to meet Louis' gaze. “She's in Liam's room now and I heard Frank and Penelope whispering back and forth with her and they said something about his temperature being scary high and something about going to the hospital.”

“Maybe it's appendicitis or something.” Louis offered, knowing that it was one of dozens of possible diagnoses. 

“Maybe.” Zayn didn't sound convinced.

“Where's Niall?”

“Asleep. I came to get you first.” 

Louis nodded. “You go wake Niall up and I'll go see what's going on with Liam, okay?”

“K.” Zayn turned and headed down the hall to Niall's room. Louis put on a pair of gray Adidas shorts before heading to Liam's room. Frank and Penelope were standing just inside the doorway and Louis could see Kayla sitting on the edge of Liam's bed, her long thick black hair blocking his bandmate's face from his view. 

“Hey,” he put his hand on Penelope's forearm. “Is he okay?”

Louis could see the look of worry on her face as well as Frank's as they turned toward his voice. “His fever is really high and he says that everything aches. Kayla just called an ambulance. They're going to take him to the hospital to check him out further.” Penelope offered him a slight smile.

He nodded and turned to see Zayn and Niall joining them as he replied. “I just don't get it. He was fine a few hours ago.”

Frank opened his mouth to respond when the paramedics arrived on scene. There were three of them, two men and a woman, dressed in white uniforms. Two of them were pulling a stretcher with them down the hall. They entered Liam's room and after a few minutes they hoisted him into the portable bed. One of the male paramedics came over to speak with Louis and the others.

“Can any of you tell me if Mr. Payne has been in close physical contact with anyone whose had SAF over the past two weeks?” The man, Doug, according to the name sewn into his shirt, asked.

Everyone shook their heads no and explained that they had been in the Midwest, mostly isolated, during the past couple of weeks. Doug nodded and turned to go back to the others helping Liam.

“Wait!” Louis shouted, a little louder than he meant to do. The medic turned back around to face him. “Liam kissed a girl several times in a club in St. Louis a couple nights ago. She had just returned from school in California. I think her name was Shae if I remember correctly, but I don't know her last name.”

_Fuck, why did I have to go out that night? Why couldn't I have been happy just hanging out at the hotel with the boys?_

“Okay, thanks for that information.” The man turned away from them again and spent several minutes chatting with the female paramedic.

Eventually Doug walked back over to them and explained that they were taking Liam to a large hospital in Kansas City where he could be placed in isolation as a precaution until bloodwork could be performed and analyzed. “Did anyone else come in physical contact with this girl, Shae?”

They all answered a truthful no. “I did speak and dance with her friend who also went to school in California, but I didn't kiss her or anything. I touched her hand I think.” Louis spoke up.

“Okay. Just try to monitor your temperature and how you're feeling over the next several days. If you start having symptoms contact a hospital and explain the situation so they can help determine whether you need to be isolated or not.”

“The three of us,” Zayn motioned between himself, Louis and Niall, “have all touched Liam though so shouldn't that matter?”

The paramedic smiled sympathetically. “Not unless he gets a positive SAF result and so far we haven't had a case here in Omaha so it's possible it could just be the regular flu or some type of infection.”

Frank asked the man a few more questions and Louis took the opportunity to slip over to the gurney Liam was strapped onto while no one was looking. He made sure not to touch his ill bandmate, yet he could see that Liam was awake; his face flush with fever and his eyes slightly glazed.

“Li?”

The younger man turned his brown eyes up to look Louis' in the face. “Tommo?” Liam's voice was strained and weak.

“Yeah, it's me,” Louis responded with an unintentional quiver in his own voice. “Stay tough mate. You're gonna be alright. Me and Z and Nialler are going to text you like every five minutes to check on you okay? You're going to hate how annoying we are by the time you're feeling better.”

Liam nodded, a hint of a smile briefly forming on his lips. 

“Just get some rest and let the doctors and nurses take care of you. We love you.” 

Before Liam could respond the female paramedic was dragging Louis away by the elbow and a few minutes later he watched as Liam was covered by a light blanket and wheeled out of the room. The blanket would serve as a cloak to keep fans in the car park below from knowing it was Liam being taken out on a stretcher and loaded into the awaiting ambulance.

Deflated, Louis, Zayn and Niall gathered into Louis' room. Zayn called Liam's parents, Niall called Harry, and Louis simply called his mum, because he didn't know what else to do. In the early afternoon Frank knocked at the door and delivered the dreaded news. Liam had tested positive for SAF. The information was met with tears and a long three-way hug. Frank told them he already canceled the Omaha and Oklahoma City shows and had booked flights for the three boys to fly back to London the next morning. As long as they weren't showing any signs of illness they would still be allowed to fly. A handful of their American crew members had rented vehicles to drive home to their own families already. 

The rest of the day was spent mostly in silence, each of them texting friends or family, texting Liam, watching movies on their laptops, or playing games on their phones. No one was in the mood to talk. Louis ended up sending a text to Harry after dinner; dinner he had barely touched.

**Hey, are you still in LA?**

Harry responded in only a few minutes, much to Louis' surprise and relief.

_Yes. Trying to find a flight but most commercial flights are canceled or full. Waiting on a callback from Paul Wright, my pilot friend who lives in San Fran._

**Liam has superflu.**

_I know. Niall texted me._

**Z, N and I are flying to London tomorrow. Tour canceled. I feel bad leaving Liam behind.**

_I know but there's nothing you can do. You need to go home to Mum and the girls._

Louis couldn't help but crack a smile because even years after their break up Harry continued to refer to Louis' mother as Mum, which she delighted in of course, despite the fact that Louis had always referred to Harry's mother by her first name.

**I know you're right but I still feel bad. Let me know when you and Gem get home.**

_I will._

**You're still feeling okay?**

_I'm fine. Just want to get out of Cali. You okay?_

**Yeah**

_Good_

_Love you mate_

Tears gathered behind Louis' eyes when he read Harry's last text. At least he still had Harry's love in some form and really it was the most he could hope for after everything they'd been through. He managed to gather himself enough to send out a reply.

**Love you too.**

Wasn't that just the understatement of the year.

 

Saturday morning, June 16th, didn't go as planned. 

“We're sorry, your flight from Chicago to London was canceled. The UK have grounded all flights coming from and going to the Americas as of this morning.” The United airlines representative informed the boys and Frank when they arrived at Eppley Airfield, the Omaha airport. “We can still fly you from here to Chicago-O'Hare if you want.”

Louis, Zayn and Niall had all heard the news that morning. The first few cases of SAF had popped up in Europe the day before, including a case in London. All of the infected had recently been in the United States or Canada. As a result almost every nation in Europe had immediately canceled all flights to or from North America, as they had done with South and Central America previously. 

“What good is going to Chicago if we can't get to London?” Zayn asked the rep. 

“I'm sorry,” she responded with genuine regret in her voice.

“Can you get us anywhere in Europe?” Louis asked. “Or what about Australia? Could we fly from the US to Australia and then from Australia to the UK? Or Japan?”

“I'm sorry sir, but Australia and Japan have both stopped accepting flights from North America as well, as has almost every European country.”

“But there are some countries that haven't right?” Louis questioned again.

“Well, there may be a few but it will be difficult to get a flight to those countries. Most will already be full and they could stop the flights at any time. Then even if you do manage to get to London they may force you to leave or put you in isolation since you've been in the United States.”

“Could you just look and see if there's any other options?” Niall asked the woman politely, sensing that Louis was getting a bit agitated with the situation. “Cost is not an issue. We just want to get home.”

The woman nodded and looked back to her computer. They waited about five minutes before she finally quit typing and spoke again. “There is a flight leaving from here tomorrow at 4:10pm and arriving at JFK airport in New York at 7:05pm. There's a four hour layover and then an 11:20 pm flight non-stop from JFK to Athens, Greece, arriving at 5:30 pm, Eastern European time, Monday. From there you would be able to book a flight from Athens to London. There's only two seats left on the flight to New York though. I could book two of you and put one on standby.”

The trio looked at one another, unsure of what to do.

“I'm not leaving either of you behind,” Niall said resolutely.

“Me neither.” Zayn stated, looking directly at Louis and then to Frank.

Louis felt the same way, but he also knew as the eldest member of the band that he was the big brother and needed to get his bandmates home first. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if they missed their chance to go home to their families. So he made a decision.

“Are there any flights to Los Angeles? Just one seat?” 

The representative shook her head. “LAX is pretty much shut down. The same with all of the airports out west.”

“What about a rental car? Are there any available?” He asked more persistently.

“You would have to ask the rental car companies down the hall and to the right.”

Zayn pulled Louis away from the desk by his forearm. “Lou, have you lost your bloody mind?” His voice was just above a whisper, but there was no doubting his disapproval of Louis' actions. “I know you still—,” Zayn stopped for just a second as if he caught himself saying something he shouldn't before he continued, “—you can't go to California! If you do you may as well start writing your own obituary! Besides, your mum and sisters need you.”

Louis rubbed the bridge of his nose with his right fingers and thumb. He knew Zayn was right, but he also knew that the chance of all three of them getting home was slim. If he could be with Harry in LA it would be better than being alone in Omaha.

“Not any more than your family needs you and Niall's needs him. If the flu is as bad as they're saying in California then Harry and Gemma are going to need someone too.”

Zayn sighed. “But what if you drive all the way there and they've already found a flight home? Then you're stuck in an even worse situation than this one.”

Louis hadn't thought of that. “I'll text Harry tonight and find out if they've left yet or not and if they haven't then I'll drive out tomorrow after you two catch your flight to New York.”

Zayn didn't look happy about it, but the frown on his face seemed to soften a little. “At least get put on standby for the flight tomorrow in case a seat opens. Then if it doesn't you can drive to LA.”

Louis nodded. “Deal.” He hugged Zayn and then Niall. Frank booked the seats for the flights to New York and Athens, placing Louis on standby for the first flight. They all sent get well texts to Liam in the car on the way back to the hotel. So far there had been no word from him or the hospital in Kansas City where he had been placed in quarantine. They were all holding out hope for good news, but knew that it was mostly futile at that point. It looked more and more like the superflu couldn't be stopped, at least on this side of the world.

At the hotel they spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in Louis' room staring blankly at the Harry Potter movie marathon showing on some cable station. It had been one of only a couple of stations not showing around the clock news coverage of the flu virus and the resulting rioting and looting in cities like Los Angeles, Oakland, and Seattle. They had even skipped dinner, feeling too forlorn to eat, and anyone who knew Niall knew it must be pretty bad if he couldn't stomach food. The lad would eat six meals instead of three and down a couple pitchers of beer per day if he didn't worry about staying fit for touring. 

Louis sat with his back against the headboard of the bed, his legs outstretched in front of him. Zayn's head was placed on his right shoulder and Niall's on his left. At some point Zayn had reached out and laced his almost satiny soft left hand with Louis' smaller right one and they remained entwined on the bed between their bodies for what felt like hours before they were jerked to attention by the sound of Louis' phone. He threw his body across Zayn's lap to reach for the phone on the nightstand. Zayn immediately covered his crotch to protect his crown jewels from Louis' elbow that was pushing into his upper thigh. Niall, who had dozed off, comically fell into Zayn's shoulder and awoke with a soft thump. 

“Shit, bro, I could've got the phone for you,” Zayn responded, his voice pitching a little higher because he was being squished by two grown men.

It was too late though. Louis had the phone in his hand and laid out on his stomach across Zayn as he answered. “Harry?” He was out of breath and knew he probably came across as a little desperate but at this point he didn't care. 

“Lou, you okay?” Harry's deep rasp sounded concerned.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.” Louis tried to sound more cool and collected than a few seconds earlier.

“Any word on Liam?”

“None. The hospital refuses to release any information so far and he hasn't texted any of us so we're not sure if he has access to his phone or not.”

“Did you make it to London okay?”

Louis paused. He hadn't realized that no one had called Harry with the news about their canceled flight.

“No. We're still in Omaha. Our flights were canceled. Niall and Zayn are booked on a flight to New York and then Greece tomorrow. Then they'll fly home from there. I'm on standby because there were only two available seats,” he explained. “Are you home yet?”

There was a pause on the other end and Louis thought he could hear Harry inhaling a deep breath and letting it out before speaking. “No. I'm not going home, Louis.”

“What?” Louis asked. “Why not? I know it's hard to get flights but there has to be some way to get home still.”

“Well, my friend Paul agreed to fly us from San Francisco to Dallas tomorrow, but he couldn't go any further because his daughter's sick and he needed to get back to her. So I told him we would figure something out once we get to Texas, but in the end it didn't matter because….” Harry paused again.

Louis could feel it in his veins: the anvil hanging right over his head, just like in the old cartoons he used to watch as a child, ready to drop on top of him and smash him into the ground. He grabbed Zayn's right hand with his free right one and squeezed tight, looking up at his bandmate whose large brown eyes were watching back with obvious interest in the conversation. Niall was resting his chin on Zayn's left shoulder as well, his lips drawn into a tight line, big blue eyes full of concern. Shit was about to hit the fan, well more shit than they'd already been faced with, and somehow Louis knew all three of them in the room could feel it even if he was the only one who could actually hear Harry speaking.

“...because Gemma's sick.”

And there it was. The anvil. The bomb. The bullet to the chest. Shit indeed.

 

Louis, having a hard time finding the ability to speak, did his best to offer his sympathy and support to Harry. Eventually he put Harry on speaker phone so Zayn and Niall could join in the conversation. They chatted for a few minutes and gave each other best wishes. Louis could sense an undercurrent of fear in each of their voices. It was almost as if they all wondered if this might be the last time they would all speak to each other again. When the conversation slowed and Harry needed to get back to Gemma, Louis took the phone back off speaker and walked into the loo, shutting the door so he could speak with Harry in private.

“Haz, I can come out to California. I'm probably not going to get a seat on that flight tomorrow and I could come help you take care of Gem; give you some company. I'd leave as soon as Zayn and Niall catch the flight to New York.” Louis kept a positive tone in his voice, hoping Harry would agree to the offer. His attempt didn't work.

“No way, Lou.” Harry responded firmly. “You're not coming here. LA is overrun with the flu and it's dangerous with looters and crazy sick people in the streets. Liam's already sick and you're not, so maybe you've dodged a bullet. If you come here you'll be exposed to the virus again and I can't worry about you getting sick too. I lost my mum and I'm probably going to lose my big sister. I can't lose you too.”

“Harry—,” Louis started, his voice thick with emotion. Just hearing Harry say he couldn't bear losing him made his stomach flutter and his heart ache.

“No.” Harry answered again before Louis even had a chance to argue. “Lou, even if you miss that flight tomorrow, promise me you'll try to get home and you won't come here.”

_Damn him._

Louis wanted to argue with Harry, but deep down he knew if the situation was reversed and Harry was offering to put his life at risk to help him and his sick family Louis would tell him to stay away too. He would want to protect Harry at all costs and as hard as it was to not go running to help him, he knew deep down that his former boyfriend was right. He needed to go home to his mum and sisters. He just hoped that Harry would make it home someday too because it was hard enough to imagine losing one bandmate and close friend in Liam, but losing Harry too? He didn't even want to imagine that possibility.

Letting out a long sigh that he made sure Harry could hear on the other end, Louis gave in. “I promise.”

“Pinky swear?”

“God, you're so stubborn,” Louis teased even though his heart wasn't really in it. “I pinky swear. I'll go home to Doncaster if I can.”

“Good.” Harry finally sounded satisfied with Louis' reply.

“Keep me updated on Gem?” 

“I will and you keep me updated on Liam? And let me know if you all get to London?”

“I will.”

“Take care, Lou.”

“Yeah, you too.”

The line went dead and Louis just sat on top of the bathroom counter for awhile, shuffling his phone from hand to hand, contemplating the situation at hand. When he was finally ready to face people again he opened the door and couldn't help but smile when he found both Zayn and Niall asleep in his bed, their bodies facing each other as they lay on their sides, their foreheads nearly touching. Louis sneaked a picture of them before setting his phone down on the nightstand next to Zayn's, sliding into bed on the other side of Niall and pulling the covers up over them all. It was a tight squeeze, but almost immediately he felt sleep overtake his body.

Sunshine was peeking in through the window when Louis woke up to the sound of coughing Sunday morning. He glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly nine o'clock. The bathroom light was on and the door was wide open. Sitting up, Louis saw that Niall was still sound asleep next to him, snoring softly. He quietly slipped out of bed and made his way to the doorway of the loo. Inside Zayn was splashing cool water on his face over the sink.

“Y'alright mate?” Louis asked, concerned by the peaked look around Zayn's eyes and the fact that his bandmate seemed to be gripping the edge of the sink to keep himself steady.

Zayn coughed again, before spitting some phlegm into the sink. Louis had to look down at his own feet to keep from gagging. He never did have a particularly strong stomach when it came to bodily fluids. Never-the-less he stepped forward and rubbed circles into Zayn's back for a moment before Zayn turned to face him.

“I'm not feeling so well Louis.” As soon as Zayn finished speaking his chocolate brown eyes rolled back into his head and his body went completely limp. Louis thankfully caught him in his arms and gently laid Zayn's unconscious body onto the bathroom floor, keeping the other boy's head in his own lap.

Louis screamed Niall's name until he saw blonde hair and a thin physique in the doorway, rubbing at sleepy eyes. Before Niall could even speak Louis was yelling “Call 911! Now! Zayn's collapsed!”

Niall did as told and Louis tried to wake Zayn by gently smacking his cheek and calling his name. He could feel the fever radiating off his bandmate, just as Zayn had felt with Liam a couple mornings earlier, and he was suddenly terrified. 

“No. No. No. No.” Louis' voice shook as warm tears dropped from his blue eyes directly onto Zayn's scorching skin below. “This can't be happening! Come on Z you have to wake up! You're supposed to go home today! You have to be okay...”

\------------------------------------------------

Wednesday, June 27, 2018  
Nebraska

 

The morning after the storm and subsequent rainbow, Louis woke early inside the farmhouse. After relieving himself in the loo, he could feel the ache of his thigh injury, so he removed his bandages and cleaned the cut with some hydrogen peroxide before reapplying antibiotic ointment and covering it with clean bandages. He knew the last thing he needed was an infection that would require hard-to-come-by antibiotics. Then he made his way outside to investigate the multiple outbuildings on the property. It was only an hour after dawn but the sun already felt hot and the air thick. He had a felling today would be a scorcher. As a Brit he enjoyed the immense sunshine of American summers, but he never could get used to the excessive heat and humidity.

He reached the stables first. The smell of rotting carcasses and manure when he opened the large doors made him thankful he hadn't eaten breakfast yet. The buzz of flies could be heard throughout the animal stalls when he stepped inside, holding his shirt above his nose to keep from dry heaving. As he walked down the path in the center, Louis glanced to each stall on his left and right and was sickened to see dead horses, cattle and goats, covered in flies, gnats, and other insects. They weren't the first deceased animals he had come in contact with during the past 24 hours but they were the largest group he had witnessed so far. Many animal species had been prone to the superflu. It appeared to Louis that the larger the mammal the more likely they were to contract the virus. Horses, cattle, sheep, pigs, and dogs had all virtually met extinction. While Louis had come across some dead cats, he also had found some seemingly healthy felines on his journey from Omaha. Squirrels, birds and insects seemed to be unaffected as far as he could tell. He figured fate had virtually turned him into a vegetarian with the lack of available meat. Even if he managed to catch a fish or trap a squirrel he wouldn't know how to prepare or cook them. For the first time in a long time he longed for a burger, chips, and a cold beer, realizing how much he had taken things like that for granted before.

Making his way through the back exit of the stables, Louis passed an empty chicken coop and entered the large old red wooden barn that he had spotted from afar the afternoon before during the storm. Inside was a large John Deere tractor, the typical green paint scheme of the manufacturer was scratched up and chipping from years of use. There was a vast collection of farm tools hanging on the wall to his right; rakes, pitchforks, shovels, amongst others that Louis didn't even know the name of or what they were used for. He let his eyes scan the rest of the barns contents before his eyes came to rest on something in the far left corner. The gleam of sunlight shining off red metal caught his attention. Weaving his way through hay and farm equipment, he finally reached the object: a bicycle.

He pulled it out from behind a stack of plywood and gave it a once over. He guessed the bike was probably as old as him, if not older, but it looked to be in decent condition. The tires were in need of some air but otherwise the old Huffy 10 speed would be perfect for traveling through the traffic jams, more efficient than journeying on foot or by car at this point.

It took him a few minutes to pull the bike out of the barn and into the yard and then several more minutes to locate a tire pump. He eventually found a foot pump in a small shed near the house. He pumped air into both bicycle tires and inspected them for any major leaks. He rejoiced in his head when he found none and then he went back inside to heat up a can of mixed vegetables for breakfast. Whomever had lived in the old farmhouse before had taken almost all of the food from the pantry and cupboards before leaving, so Louis was limited to the few cans he found in the pantry the night before. He did find a box of raisins at the back of a high cupboard while inspecting the kitchen one last time. They were stale but he couldn't afford to be choosy and ate them along with the veggies.

After his meal he changed out of his borrowed t-shirt and sweatpants and into a pair of his own black shorts and an oversized gray tank top with a skull on the front. He used a stick outside to scrape the mud off his trainers before putting them on and by seven o'clock he was cruising down the road, leaving the old farmstead in his dust.

Since there was no interstate on-ramp for miles and he couldn't lift the bike over the barbed wire fence that he injured himself on the previous day, Louis chose to follow US highway 6 that ran parallel to I-80 in Nebraska. As he had suspected, he made better time on the bicycle than he did walking and driving the day before. 

Three hours into his ride he reached Lincoln, the state's capital city. Even though it was the capital of Nebraska, it wasn't a huge city, smaller than Omaha, yet it still carried the ripe smell of death with it. Louis knew he was approaching the city several miles before he reached it all because of the odor in the air. He tried to pull his shirt up to cover his nose as he pedaled but it kept falling and he ended up having to plug his nose with his hand, slightly slowing his pace. He could even taste the decay in the air as he rode past empty restaurants, car dealerships, factories, and shopping centers, many of them having been raided at some point with broken windows and wide open doors. He noticed a burned out McDonald's on one corner. Man, what he would give for a Sausage McMuffin right now, he thought to himself while shaking his head. Weaving between stalled vehicles, he could see the city center to his left and for a few seconds he considered leaving his chosen route to go exploring for signs of life, but then he remembered he was on a mission and decided to keep going, other survivors be damned. Nothing would stop him from getting to Los Angeles. Besides, the wasting bodies of the dead were everywhere in the city. They all seemed to have their eyeballs fixed right on Louis as he rode past them, sunken faces pressed against car windows, clammy sunburnt rotting skin on front lawns, creepy twisted looking smiles on dead children in what looked to have been a hospital triage area in a motel car park. The longer the corpses sat rotting the more they started to look like the skeleton gracing his chest. 

The silence was even worse than the corpses and the smell. What used to be a bustling city was now desolate. Completely quiet. No sounds of vehicles on the roads, no horns honking, no train whistles, no airplanes in the sky, no doors opening and closing, no air con units running, and no voices speaking; shouting; crying; laughing. No children playing. Just nothing. Nothing but the occasional flap of an American flag in the wind. He felt a chill go down his spine and despite feeling hot and exhausted he pedaled faster. He had never longed to see endless cornfields and grain silos so badly in his life and not for the first time he wondered if perhaps he really was the last person left on earth.

Not long after he passed through Lincoln he came to a tiny town where the air was at least a little fresher and the number of dead in the streets not so high. Louis was fortunate enough to find an abandoned general store that had somehow remained mostly untouched during the outbreak. Grabbing several bottles of water, he was forced to rid his backpack of his favorite pair of black skinny jeans and his black Toms to make room for the bottles. He used one more bottle of water to fill up a large purple plastic reusable water bottle; the type dedicated cyclists often used with a spout that can be pulled up with just one's teeth. There were some apples and plums that looked to be in edible condition as well, so Louis slipped the purple bottle into the side pocket of his backpack and filled the rest of his bag with fruit, as well as a few cans of vegetable beef soup. He shoved a few packets of peanuts into his right pocket and two energy bars into his left one before he was on his way again, chomping on an apple as he pedaled out of town. Nothing had ever tasted so sweet or delicious to him before. He figured only manna literally sent from heaven could possibly taste better.

He rode on until after six in the evening, stopping only once for a brief lunch under a large maple tree and a couple of times to relieve himself on the side of the road. When he reached the quaint village of Meadowbrook in central Nebraska, Louis pulled over at a park just east of the town's advertised historic downtown. He stretched his achy legs and put his baggage down on an ornate wooden bench that featured carvings of oak trees on each side of the back rest with the town's name beautifully carved in-between the trees. It was fine craftsmanship, Louis acknowledged to himself and looked around to see a half dozen or more identical benches placed throughout the park.

There were no visible signs of life nearby, yet Louis noticed for the first time that there were also no corpses lying in the streets or in vehicles which struck him as odd since there had been bodies everywhere in every other town he had passed through so far, even those where the pre-superflu population had likely not exceeded one hundred. According to the sign at the edge of town, Meadowbrook's population had been more than 2,400. Perhaps everyone in the town had remained indoors when the virus hit, or they evacuated town in a mass exodus.

It was a beautiful evening. The sun was still bright in the western sky, no clouds to be seen, and the air seemed to have lost some of the stickiness that had been so uncomfortable to Louis' lungs earlier in the day. Spotting a makeshift football field (or soccer field as they would've incorrectly called it in Nebraska) beyond a playground, Louis decided the open grassy area of the field would be a perfect place to build a fire and heat up some dinner. For some reason the idea of moving indoors made him feel a bit claustrophobic.

It didn't take long to gather up enough tree branches to make a rather sizable pile and he dug Zayn's Zippo lighter out of the smaller front pocket of the backpack. It took a couple of tries to get a good fire burning, but once the flames started to spread from branch to branch, it didn't take much stoking with a larger branch to get a small bonfire going strong. Louis wasn't exactly the outdoorsy type so he couldn't help but literally pat himself on the back for his fire building accomplishment.

He heated up some vegetable beef soup over the fire in the small pot he had brought from the hotel in Omaha and used his sole spoon to eat the soup directly out of the steaming pot. Afterward he sat down on a bench; far enough away from the flames to keep him from sweating; but close enough to keep the mosquitoes at bay. When the fire started to die down he reached into the backpack and pulled out Zayn's sketchpad. The pages could help feed the flames and Louis was considering keeping the fire going all night while he slept on the bench in the fresh air.

Flipping to the first page, he found a sketch of Zayn's little sister, Safaa. She had been close in age to Louis' 14 year old sisters, Phoebe and Daisy, and he had met her a handful of times over the years. Like Louis, Zayn had been very protective of his sisters and Safaa had seemed to be as smart and insightful as her big brother, but she was more outgoing and energetic than him; a real force of nature. The drawing was completed with just a regular pencil but the detail was impressive. Zayn had never lacked for talent in a variety of areas.

He turned to the next page and Louis' lips formed into a smile when he saw the image. It was another realistic drawing, this time completed with colored pencils, of Zayn and Liam singing into their microphones on stage; Zayn wearing a t-shirt with a Batman symbol on it and Liam wearing a fedora with a plain black button down shirt, his sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows. Louis wondered if Zayn had used a real picture of them from a concert as inspiration. His heart ached at the thought that his two friends were gone and that One Direction would never take the stage again. 

Louis wasn't sure if he wanted to continue browsing through Zayn's art, partly because of the memories it brought back and partly because he was afraid of what the next picture might be, yet he couldn't find the strength to stop turning the pages. There was a mix of realistic and cartoon like drawings of Zayn and his family, of his favorite superheroes, of random people he observed in various places around the world, and of course some of the boys. He stopped abruptly when he turned to a sketch dated the previous December of the five of them dressed up for the American Music Awards where they received the honor of opening the show with the debut of their first single off of the new album. It had been such an exciting but anxious moment for all of them because no one outside of the boys and their team had heard any of the new music yet and to officially release the single by performing it on such a big stage was a huge risk. Louis had worried whether the fans and the industry would welcome them back with open arms after their two year hiatus, especially after Zayn, Harry and Liam had all released very successful solo albums and Harry had somewhat established himself as an actor while they were gone. As it turned out they were welcomed with open arms by the fans and the industry welcomed them more than they ever had before. For Louis it was one of the best moments of his professional life and maybe even his personal life too. Zayn's sketch captured the emotions of the night perfectly. They were lined up as if posing for a picture, with their arms outstretched behind one another's backs, like they had stood so many times over the years. What caught Louis' attention though was that Zayn, Niall, and Liam were all smiling and looking forward, like they were looking at the camera as if it were a real photograph, but Louis, who was on the left end, and Harry, who was on the right end of the group, were looking and smiling at each other, as if there was no one else around them, as if they were in love.

Louis was sure Zayn had sketched the picture from his mind and that there had been no such photo taken of the band where Harry and Louis were staring at each other that night. For years they had been highly discouraged by management from even sneaking glances and Louis made sure to keep his eyes anywhere but on Harry when he was in public. Even in private he limited his looks after their breakup and he held his true feelings deep inside away from everyone except his own mother. But Zayn. Zayn knew. Zayn, even after he had abandoned the band and had been placed on Louis' shit list for two years before Louis begrudgingly let him back into his life last summer, knew that Louis was still in love with Harry. Knew that Louis could feign true happiness to the outside world, while inside his soul cried out in regret toward the boy, now man, with the doe eyes, pouty lips, and dimples. Knew that Louis had fallen so hard before they had even been put in a band together on the X-factor that he'd never be the same again. And now Louis realized that Zayn saw Harry's feelings too. When Louis had been so sure Harry had moved on and buried their love in the past, Zayn knew otherwise. A chuckle escaped his lips despite the pain within Louis' heart, a sorrow so deep from the events of the past few weeks, that he knew his heart would never completely heal, yet it was temporarily lightened by the beautiful art he currently held in his hands and he couldn't help but wonder if their other friends and family had seen what Zayn did too. He sat for a few minutes more, his fingers tracing over each of the five figures in the sketch, before closing the book and placing it back in his pack. He could find tinder for the fire elsewhere.

To the west the sky boasted a pink and orange hue, the sun having dropped below the trees and buildings in the distance. Louis got up from the bench to stoke the fire, contemplating what he could use to keep the fire burning through the night. Suddenly he heard a noise, something that sounded eerily like the snap of a twig. Louis twisted the top half of his body around to look behind him. The fading daylight made it difficult to see more than a few meters away, even with the fire providing some extra light. He squinted against the dark but couldn't make anything out in the distance. Deciding the noise was likely just a squirrel he turned back to tend to the fire. The next sound a few moments later was something he couldn't mistake and it left him frozen.

“Don't move stranger and I won't shoot,” a deep voice called from what Louis guessed was maybe two and half meters behind him. Louis' heart sped up and he could feel the thumps throughout his shaky body. He closed his eyes, balled up his fists, and tried to steady himself.

“Put your hands up so I can see them.”

Louis did as told, raising his arms just above his head, his palms open and visible to the man. He wanted to say something, but he knew if he did he was risking a bloody death. This man could be sick and delusional or he could simply be insane. 

_Just don't piss yourself, Tommo._ For some reason the voice in his head sounded a lot like Liam's voice. Liam was the most rational one in the band after all.

“Now, turn around,” the voice said again.

Louis turned around slowly, his hands still stretched open at the sides of his own head. He found himself staring into the end of a double barrel shotgun. At that point he figured pissing his pants was the least of his worries. He was terrified to even attempt to look up at the face of the person pointing the gun at this head. An outstretched arm with dark skin and a rough scarred hand was wrapped around the stock. It was obvious the man had spent years working with his hands. Perhaps he had spent years holding guns in other men's faces too? He couldn't see it but Louis was sure a finger was waiting and ready to pull the trigger.

_Well it will be a quick death when my brains explode._

“What's your name, stranger?”

“Louis,” his voice came out high pitched, almost like he imagined the sound of a cat being strangled would sound.

“You sick, Louis?”

Louis shook his head back and forth. “No.”

“You alone or are there other people with you?” The man's voice seemed to get deeper and more intimidating with each question and Louis felt like he was shrinking to the size of a tiny helpless ant the longer the interrogation went on.

“Just me, I swear.”

“You from England?”

“Yes, sir.” Louis figured using his best manners might be his only chance of getting out of this situation with his body intact. “Doncaster.”

“Whadduya doin' in Nebraska?”

Louis swallowed hard, his mouth viciously dry. “I was in Omaha for work. I'm trying to get to California.”

The man let out a hearty laugh. “What's in California besides dead celebrities and hipsters?”

“A friend. I'm trying to find my friend who is in LA.”

The gun dropped to the man's side and Louis let out a loud sigh of relief, while running his hands through his dark and now sweaty hair. “Your friend's dead, English,” the man answered. “You mind if I call you English?”

“Ermmm, no.” Louis responded slowly, afraid to say that yes he minded and should be called Louis or, better yet, Mr. Tomlinson after the scary shit this man had just put him through.

“Ain't no one alive. You're the first living person I've seen in almost three days, and the first healthy person in longer than that.”

Louis found the courage to look the man in the eyes for the first time. They were a lighter shade of brown, similar to the color of Zayn's eyes, and while the man was intimidating in voice and stature his eyes showed something softer. He reminded Louis a little of Danny Glover, the actor from the Lethal Weapon movies. He was probably pushing fifty, donned a thick mustache, was several inches taller than Lou, and had a bit of a beer belly despite the fact that his biceps were bigger around than Louis' thighs. He wore a plain black sleeveless tank-top, faded blue jeans (a small rip in both knees), and light brown Timberland steel toed boots.

“You might be right—“ Louis paused as the man held his hand out for a shake.

“Carl,” the man answered as he shook Louis' hand firmly. 

“—Carl,” Louis repeated, “but I have to know for sure that my friend is gone, even if it takes me a year to get there.”

Carl nodded. “You got a place to sleep tonight?”

“I was thinking about sleeping on this bench actually.”

“That's a great place to sleep if you want to wake up with a backache in the morning,” Carl responded with what appeared to be a genuine smile. Then he pointed his head toward the north. “Follow me.”

“Are you sure you're not just luring me somewhere to kill me? I mean you did just stick a shotgun in my face.” Louis asked, half joking, half serious.

Carl laughed again. “If I wanted to kill you I would've done it already. You're the only other living person in this town and seeing as I'm not one who likes being alone, I figure we may as well have some dinner and conversation. Besides, you're so small I'm not feeling too threatened.”

Louis rolled his eyes, grabbed his bag and guitar, and let Carl lead the way. He decided not to tell the older man that he had already eaten dinner. At this point, any food, barring human flesh, was a welcome sight to him. 

_God, please don't let this man be a cannibal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for how angsty this is, lol, but I guess since it is a post apocalyptic themed fic it's bound to be angsty. The next couple chapters will still be pretty angsty but I will try to throw in some lighter moments too. 
> 
> All small towns in this story are fictional, such as Meadowbrook in this chapter, however, if you are following Louis' journey on Google Maps, Meadowbrook is imagined to be somewhere near the real town of Hastings, along US 6 in south central Nebraska. 
> 
> After re-reading this chapter, I just wanted to clarify that the little Ziam mention and brush off by Louis is not meant to offend Ziam shippers so I hope it didn't come off that way. I just chose to have Zayn and Liam only be friends in this fic, however, I'm not anti-Ziam at all. :)
> 
> Also, there will be flashbacks that fill in more of the Larry backstory and what went wrong between them in the past. I know I haven't dove into that too much yet, but it is coming.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who is reading! Even if it's just one person, it means a lot to me! I'm a new writer in this fandom/ship (I do write in other fandoms) and I swear the Larry fandom has the most amazing writers!! Seriously, what a wealth of talent in this fandom!


	5. Say Goodnight, Not Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! 
> 
> I'm posting this quick so I haven't went through my final edits just yet. Please forgive any errors. I'll go through final edits tomorrow.
> 
> Also, Louis' texts in **bold** , Harry's in _italics_.
> 
> As always, flashback first, followed by present time in the story.
> 
>  
> 
> **WARNING: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS IN THIS CHAPTER. MAJOR ANGST ALERT!!**

Sunday June 17, 2018  
Omaha, Nebraska

On the outside, Louis Tomlinson had always appeared fierce. Unwilling to put up with the unnecessary shit that came along with being famous, he had never been afraid to stand up to rude paparazzi or call out a journalist for asking ridiculous or invasive questions to him or his bandmates. As a result, he sometimes found himself in trouble with the band’s management, but to his fans he appeared strong; a fighter; a man with a lot of courage in the face of sometimes brutal circumstances, such as the closet he found himself eternally trapped in yet valiantly fought to escape.

Inside, however, Louis Tomlinson was a softie; emotionally fragile at times, always an optimist, and loyal to a fault (unless he felt truly betrayed by someone). He gave to others unselfishly and his love for his friends and family was immeasurable. Those who were lucky enough to get to know Louis often found themselves drawn in by the boy with the big personality and the even bigger heart. Despite the tough exterior, in the most difficult times, Louis often found himself leaning on those around him, because his heart was just too full of love to handle it all alone.

So it would come as little-to-no surprise for those who knew Louis well that it took Frank and two of the band’s bodyguards to physically separate Louis from Zayn’s unconscious body as they loaded the other boy into the back of an SUV to transport to the hospital. There had been no available ambulances in the area due to the superflu’s rapid spread into the middle portion of the United States so the decision was made to drive Zayn to the hospital themselves. Louis had clung to Zayn’s arm when they carried the sickly lad down the hallways of the hotel, when they stood in the lift while it slowly dropped to the first floor, and when they finally made their way to the car park and the awaiting vehicle.

Once Louis had been successfully removed from Zayn’s body, Frank spoke to both Louis and Niall.

“You boys need to stay here and pack your stuff. You’ve got a plane to catch this afternoon.”

Louis tried to argue with the older man, but it was of no use. Frank waved goodbye, got in the passenger seat of the van, and the vehicle pulled away while Louis was still begging for them to let him come along. Niall stepped forward and put his arm around Louis’ shoulders, leading the older boy back up to Louis’ room on the fourth floor.

As soon as they stepped inside the room Louis felt another rush of tears fill up behind his eyes and make their way down his cheeks. Niall pulled him into a tight hug. The blonde Irishman, despite being older than Harry by several months, had always been treated like the baby of the group (he did have a reputation for crying while emotional), but in reality was a young man of immense strength in tough situations. He was one of the most reliable and good hearted people Louis had ever had the privilege of getting to know and the maturity of adulthood had only made him stronger and wiser. His arms held Louis tight as they stood there for a long time. Louis, feeling weak and defeated, and sick with worry about his boys, just sobbed into Niall’s shoulder, leaving a large wet spot on the other boy’s white t-shirt. Louis knew, however, that salty drops were slowly rolling down Niall’s cheeks too despite how well his bandmate was holding it together.

Eventually the younger boy pulled away and held Louis by both shoulders at arm’s length. His red rimmed blue eyes met Louis’ own glassy sapphire orbs as he spoke.

“Okay, let’s start getting your stuff packed so we can make that flight.”

Louis gave Niall an incredulous look. “We can’t fly to Europe now!”

“Tommo, there’s nothing we can do for Zayn or Liam or even Harry now. Let’s go home while we still can.”

“Niall, we’ve been exposed to the virus. What if we get sick and then we spread it to passengers on our flights or to our families once we’re home?”

Niall sighed. “I know what you’re saying, Louis, but if we stay here we’re as good as dead. This virus keeps spreading and maybe if we can get across the Atlantic we’ll have a chance of surviving.”

“It’s too risky, Ni,” Louis answered, “but if you want to go then by all means go. I’ll stay here. I don’t think I’ve got the will to pack everything up and leave at this point. It just...hurts too much.”

“I’m not leaving here without you.” Niall responded resolutely.

Louis rolled his eyes at the younger boy in response and let out a small huff. “Why?”

“Because I don’t believe you when you say you don’t have the will to do it.” Niall took his left hand off of Louis’ right shoulder and placed it on Louis’ right cheek instead, letting it make a small smacking sound on contact. 

“You’re a leader, Tommo. You’re _our_ leader. You’re the glue that’s held us together all these years. You always have been and I’ll follow you no matter what decision you make. I know this hurts and I know you want to stay and try to fix it for everyone like you have in the past, but you can’t this time, and it’s just you and me now and this is our last chance to escape this hell. What do you say? Whatever you decide, I’ll stand behind it. We’re brothers and we stick together.”

Louis took a step back and turned around so his back was facing his bandmate. He closed his eyes and ran his hands through his dark hair and over his unshaven face. Niall was right. He couldn’t fix anything. It was too late for the others, but they still had a chance. If they got sick on a flight they could let someone know and be placed in isolation once they arrived at the next stop. There was a good chance if they were going to fall ill it would be before they reached their families in England and Ireland so they probably wouldn’t put their families at much risk. They could always quarantine themselves in their London homes for awhile too until they knew they weren’t contagious. Staying in the States would probably mean certain death.

“Go pack your stuff.” 

Niall stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Louis’ chest from behind, giving a quick squeeze to show his approval of Louis’ decision, before leaving Louis alone to pack his own bags.

A few hours later, the two men found themselves standing silently in the hotel lobby with their packed bags at their feet, waiting for their airport taxi to arrive. The mood in the hotel had become simultaneously panicked and somber as two more patrons had fallen ill that morning, including a stage crew member for the band. Louis, despite his worries about his bandmates and other One Direction crew, was anxious to get out of the US and home to England. Niall’s words to him that morning had started to sink in and Louis recognized that everything was out of their hands.

Moments later a black SUV pulled up and stopped just outside the doors of the lobby. Louis thought it was their taxi until he saw Frank get out of the front passenger seat. Mitch also exited from the driver’s seat and opened the door behind him. Louis and Niall went out to greet them but both came to an immediate halt when they realized what was happening. They were helping an obviously very ill Zayn out of the vehicle. Zayn was conscious and able to walk with some help from the other men, but his face was flush. Sweat beaded on his forehead and in his black hair and he shivered despite looking like he had been sunbathing in the tropics for hours. 

Louis’ first instinct was to rush to Zayn’s aid.

“Don’t…,” Frank cried out to Louis.

Louis winced as he placed a hand on Zayn’s simmering cheek.

“...touch him,” Frank finished, clearly too late. “You boys shouldn’t be touching him.”

Louis ignored Frank, while Niall, a pained look on his face, stood a few feet away, clearly adhering to Frank’s words of wisdom. 

“Why are you bringing Zayn back to the hotel?” Niall finally asked as the other three men helped Zayn inside and to the lift.

“No room at the hospital,” Zayn managed to spit out between labored breaths.

“The virus is spreading fast and the hospital is out of beds. People are lying on the floors in the hallways. Now they’re turning people away, so we had no other choice but to come back to the hotel,” Frank added.

Louis and Niall exchanged worried glances as the elevator made it’s way up to the fourth floor. A few minutes later they sat at Zayn’s side as he laid as comfortably as possible in his king sized hotel bed. Louis reached out and grabbed Zayn’s left hand and out of the corner of his eye he could see Frank’s disapproval of the touch. 

“Boys, you need to say goodbye, because your taxi is here to take you to the airport. You don’t wanna miss your flight.” Frank spoke up a moment later.

Louis turned around to look at Frank and shook his head. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”

Niall sighed loudly and Louis knew it meant he disagreed with Louis’ decision. He stood up and pulled Niall toward the door. “Excuse us a second,” he stated to Frank and Mitch as he pulled the blonde boy by the hand behind him and out the door into the hallway.

“Louis, what are you doing?” Niall whispered loudly. “You’re going to get yourself sick! There’s nothing we can do for Zayn and you know it.”

“No, you’re wrong, Nialler,” Louis responded, his own whisper only slightly more quiet than Niall’s. “He needs me. He needs someone he trusts to look after him.”

Niall took out a long deep breath and let it out slowly. “For how long, Lou? A week? Maybe less? There’s a zero percent survival rate with this virus. If you stay—if we stay—it’s suicide. You know that right?

“Yeah, I know.” The words were barely audible coming from Louis’ lips. “That’s why you’re going to go home and I’m going to stay.”

“No.” Niall shook his head vehemently, a resolute look of resistance in his sky colored eyes. “If you stay, I stay.”

Louis placed his hands on the other boy’s shoulders. “Nialler,” he started, “I love you like a brother. I know you know that and I love Zayn and Liam like brothers too. We have to face we’re going to lose them. One Direction is going to be no more. Shit, all of the Americas will be no more most likely by the end of the month. Harry’s knee deep in shit in California. But you, you have a chance. Go home. Barricade yourself in your house until you know you’re not ill and then go home to your family and find yourself a beautiful girl to love, settle down, start a family if you’d like, and write and perform some songs for all of your European fans. Keep 1D alive with your presence. As long as one of us still exists so does our spirit, our memory. So go home. Please?”

They stood in silence for a few moments before Niall finally nodded. “Yeah. Okay, yeah,” the other boy’s voice was soft and sad and Louis could see the glassiness of his eyes. He pulled Niall into a tight embrace.  
“Keep me updated, yeah?” 

Louis smiled, his own blue eyes swimming now. “Of course and you’ll call me when you get home?”

“Yeah.”

They separated so Niall could say goodbye to Zayn and then Louis walked him downstairs to the taxi. One embrace and a couple “I love you bro’s” later and Louis found himself standing alone on the black pavement. Only a day earlier there had still been a handful of fans hanging around outside the lobby, but now the car park was empty, save for an occasional bird landing to bathe in a small puddle. He stood there for awhile under the hot sun, thinking about how much he wished he could be drowned in girls wanting his autograph or a selfie right then instead of drowned in the sadness of the tragedy that was surely to come over the next few days. He turned and started back inside the hotel where the virus was already spreading, where his bandmate lay dying, and where he knew he’d likely be spending his own last days.

Two hours later, Louis sat in a chair next to Zayn’s bed, his eye’s drifting shut, mostly from boredom. Frank was with Penelope, who had started feeling ill earlier that afternoon and Mitch had disappeared as well. Louis jumped slightly when he heard a light knock on the door. He opened it a crack before he found himself staring into the same blue eyes he’d said goodbye to just a short time before.

“Niall? What are you doing here?” 

“The pilot never showed up for the flight to New York. They didn’t have anyone to replace him, so here I am. I guess we’re going to leave this world together Tommo.”

“Well, at least we won’t go out alone,” Louis half joked. “Seriously, I’m sorry though. I really wanted you to get to go home to your family.”

“I know,” Niall answered, “but I’m with family here too.” He squeezed Louis shoulder.

Louis just nodded. He understood. “So how about a game of FIFA while Zayn’s asleep?”

“Sounds good. Whomever loses buys the other dinner?”

“Deal!”

 

“You let me win didn’t you?”

Louis threw his head back and laughed. “Of course not. Why would I do that?” He pushed his chicken fried rice around in its carton with his chopsticks. It was hard to eat with the knowledge of what was going on around them. So they both were mostly just sitting in silence watching the depressing news on the television and pushing their food from side to side instead of actually taking more than an occasional nibble of their China Palace take-out order. It was clearly the biggest waste of fifteen dollars he’d ever spent.

“Because you felt sorry for me.” Niall accused. “I’ve never even been close to beating you before.”

“That’s not true, Nialler.” Louis shook his head. “You know how competitive I am. I don’t intentionally let anyone beat me at Fifa, not even me own family.”

Niall seemed to be pondering that fact for a moment when Louis’ phone rang a familiar tune in his pocket. 

“Haz?” he answered as calmly as possible, trying not to give away how anxious he felt inside.

“Hi.” Harry’s deep voice responded on the other end of the line. Louis detected something strange in the tone and delivery of the other boy’s voice, despite the fact that Harry had literally uttered only one word.

“Are you okay?” He asked, silently praying that Harry wasn’t calling to say he had fallen ill himself.

“I’m okay.”

“How’s Gem?”

“Getting worse. She can’t keep anything down now and she’s burning up.” Harry’s voice cracked a little and Louis’ heart felt heavy knowing the boy he still loved was in pain, knowing that he was going to lose another member of his family.

“I’m so sorry,” Louis started, but then paused because he couldn’t really think of anything else to say that would be sufficient.

“I know.” Harry whispered.

“Haz, I have some bad news here too.”

“What is it?”

“Zayn is sick. The flu is everywhere here and the hospitals are full and so Frank and Niall and I are all taking care of him. Penelope is sick too and some other people in the hotel we’re in. There’s no more flights out of here either, so it looks like we’re stuck in Omaha.”

“Fuck.” Harry’s raspy response was exactly the word that Louis had been screaming in his head for days.

“Yeah, fuck.” 

“Is Niall there right now?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Put the phone on speaker.”

“Okay,” Louis answered, confused, but he did as told. Niall and Harry exchanged brief hellos before Harry elaborated.

“Have either of you checked your twitter alerts?” Harry asked.

Louis and Niall exchanged glances and both shook their heads.

“No,” Niall declared. “It hadn’t really crossed my mind lately. Too much going on.”

“Well, Liam uploaded a video and tweeted it this morning. I haven’t watched it yet, but I wanted to let you know about it in case you missed it.”

“Harry, is it…?” Louis’ voice was shaky. He already knew the answer, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” Harry’s voice was no more than a sorrowful whisper.

Louis pulled out his laptop from one of his still packed bags. Just as he was pulling his twitter account up on the screen, Zayn awoke, so they sat down in the bed with him and along with Harry on the other end of the phone with his own laptop open, they clicked on the link Liam had tweeted.

They all sobbed as they watched their bandmate sitting up in his bed, pillows tucked behind his back, wearing a faded light blue hospital gown, an IV attached to his left arm, his face deathly pale despite the fact he was clearly sweating, dark circles under his sunken looking brown eyes, cheekbones more prevalent from obvious weight loss, and his once clear and melodic voice, now hoarse and broken. He started by thanking everyone who had supported him throughout his life. Then Liam painfully began to say his last words to those most important to him. He started with his parents and sisters and then continued to his extended family and his close friends. Then he said goodbye to his fans, both the 1D fans and his solo fans. It was heart wrenching to watch, because all of the boys knew how thankful Liam was for the fans who had supported them all through thick and thin, through the ups and downs of the past eight years. Last, Liam moved on to the boys and it was all Louis could do to not close out the video and walk away, pretend it wasn’t real:

_“Harry, Louis, Niall, and Zayn—thank you for the last eight years. Thank you for being the brothers I never knew I needed. Thank you for putting up with my perfectionist self. Thank you for helping me achieve my dreams. Thank you for teaching me how to not be so serious all the time. Thank you for allowing me to pursue other dreams outside of the band. Thank you for all of your text messages while I’ve been lying here dying. You’ll never understand how much they’ve meant to me. Thank you for being my best best mates. Don’t let One Direction end. Keep going! Keep achieving our dreams. Keep our fans happy because they deserve it. I love all four of you more than you could ever know._

_I guess that’s it. I won’t say goodbye. I don’t believe in goodbyes. So, I’ll just say goodnight. See you all on the other side.”_

 

The video came to an end and Liam was gone. Louis, Niall, and Zayn squeezed one another into a three-way hug. They could hear Harry’s quiet sniffles through the phone as well.  
“I love you lads.” Niall spoke through his tears a moment later and they all echoed his words. 

Then they all tweeted their love to Liam in response to his video. They didn’t tell him or anyone else that Zayn was sick too. Thousands of fans had tweeted their own love and thanks to Liam, as well as to the other boys. Some of the fans were sick themselves, some were tweeting messages in memory of other Directioners who had passed already, and some were tweeting their belief that 1D would go on forever in memory of Liam. They didn’t have the heart to tell the fans they were wrong, but somehow Louis felt that in some strange way their fans were right, that somehow their music and their memory would live on even after all five of them were gone.

 

The next morning, Monday the eighteenth, marked the beginning of the end as it turned out. Louis was attending to Zayn and Penelope while Niall was with Frank who had fallen ill in the middle of the night, when a phone call came that changed everything. It was Lottie, Louis’ sister, who was six years his junior. She sobbed as she shared the news that two of their younger sisters, Fizzy and Daisy were both sick and that the superflu had suddenly hit the UK like a giant tidal wave. Both girls were hospitalized but they all knew there wasn’t much hope. Google News was reporting flu cases all over the world at that point, from Hawaii to Canada to Denmark to India to New Zealand and Australia. These were the last days for humans it appeared and Louis just hoped his own end would come sooner than later. He’d rather go before the majority of his loved ones than after. 

By Tuesday morning, the hotel owner and several of its workers had disappeared and approximately half of the tenants were sick. A few healthy people worked together to cook meals for everyone in the building. The streets were lining up with cars as families were attempting to leave the city and run for the mountains or the plains. A handful of businesses were closed “until further notice” or in other words, forever. Zayn and his parents connected by way of Facetime and Louis made sure to give his bandmate privacy while they exchanged goodbyes. So he wandered over to a coffee shop down the street that was giving out reduced price coffee. The owners were a frail elderly woman, her long white hair pulled up into a tight bun, and her middle aged daughter, a tall woman with straight black hair that fell just below her broad shoulders. They were planning on closing the shop at the end of the week and hoped to practically give away the rest of their coffee and various foods items. Louis, at his own insistence, paid them more than the regular price for two black coffees and several raisin bagels before wishing them well and making his way back to the hotel. On the side of a sand colored brick credit union the words “the end is here” rose six foot tall in blood red paint. It gave Louis the chills and he picked up his pace to escape the eeriness of the outside world for the chaos of the hotel’s interior.

Wednesday, the twentieth, was met with more terror. The cable television in the hotel went out and was replaced with white static. The internet and wifi soon followed a few hours later, leaving them without a way to receive important news. Word had reached Louis via text message of several more family members and friends back home in England falling ill. Niall also received word that his father was sick in Ireland. Zayn took a turn for the worse and was unable to keep down even minuscule amounts of fluids. He began to murmur crazy thoughts in his fitful sleep and his eyes began to sink into his skull. Penelope, Frank and several other members of the 1d crew were also growing sicker by the hour and cries to the heavens mixed with haunting moans filled the hotel. Louis cleared all of the food and beverages from their tour bus and distributed them to the few healthy persons who remained inside. Some of the healthy had fled during the middle of the night and there were less than a dozen left to help more than two hundred who were dying. Outside on the streets many of the sick wandered the streets like zombies, delirious from fever. That evening Louis’ mother called to tell him goodbye. She was sick, along with all of the girls except for Lottie. She told him she loved him, was proud of him, and wanted him to stay strong. After the call, he crawled into the bed in his own room, as Niall was keeping watch over Zayn, and cried himself to sleep.

The next day, Louis made the observation that those who had fallen ill later were dying quicker. Zayn, one of the first in the hotel to get sick, was still hanging on despite his constant agonizing pain and lack of coherence most of the time. Yet, Frank had passed quietly overnight and most everyone else was nearing their last breaths as well. Lottie texted him to say that Daisy was gone and Fizzy would likely not make it through the rest of the day. She had developed a cough herself and told him she was ready to move on to her next life because life without their family wasn’t worth living. Louis’ responded with words of love and encouragement and then spent a solid hour weeping on Niall’s shoulder. There were only four healthy persons left in the hotel at that point and the number of dead were increasing by the hour. There was nothing they could do and the feeling of helplessness was the worst part of it all. Just after dinner time (not that there had really been any dinner) Louis sat reading a Curious George book at the bedside of a dying eight year old boy named Alex, who had lost both of his parents the previous day, when he received a text from Harry.

 

_Gemma passed this morning._

**I’m so sorry, H. My sister Daisy passed last night.**

_God, I’m sorry, Lou. Has the flu spread all over the UK now? Electricity and internet has been gone here for a few days._

_My phone is almost dead too, so not sure how much longer I can text._

**Yeah, my whole family is sick. Niall’s too I think. Z is holding on but it will be soon.**

_Any word on Liam?_

**No. I just assume he’s in a better place now. It’s chaos here.**

_It’s quiet here. It’s scary. The quiet._

**Haz, are you sick? Tell me the truth.**

_No. That’s the truth I swear. Are you sick? Niall?_

**No, but I keep waiting for the fever or the cough. I know it’s coming and I just want to get it over with kwim?**

_Yeah. Stay strong Lou. Sending you and Niall hugs telepathically._

**You’re an idiot, but I’m hugging you back. You stay strong too. If anyone can survive this it’s you.**

_Later Boo Bear ;)_

**Until next time Curly :)**

 

Louis slipped the phone into his back pocket. Alex had drifted off to sleep, a thick wheezing sounded from his lungs with each breath. It had been so long since he and Harry had used their pet names for each other; pet names they had given each other practically the moment they met. Louis couldn’t help but smile at the thought, yet he felt sad that it took something like the apocalypse for them to let down their guard with one another again. Even then Louis hadn’t told Harry what he really wanted to say to him. He wanted to tell him that he still loved him, that he was sorry, that he was terrified of never seeing him again, of never holding him in his arms again, of never hearing Harry’s deep raspy voice again. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to say the words, too terrified of what the other boy’s response would be and Louis didn’t want to think about dying with the knowledge that Harry didn’t love him anymore. So instead he picked up the Curious George book and continued to read until finally drifting off into dreamland, his head resting on his arms on Alex’s bed. When he woke a few hours later the room was silent. Louis bowed his head and silently prayed that the young boy was reunited with his parents somewhere in the great beyond. He prayed for his family, for his friends back home, and for his bandmates. Last he prayed for himself. Prayed that whoever was in charge upstairs would send a reaper to collect his soul. He wanted this life to be over and to be over quickly. He didn’t want to witness anymore suffering in the hotel or outside. He didn’t want to watch children, and women, and the elderly, and most of all his bandmates, die.

 

Sometimes prayers just aren’t answered. Or at least they aren’t answered in the way one hopes they’ll be. When Louis returned to check on Zayn a few hours after leaving him with Niall so he could attend to Alex and a handful of other sick hotel tenants, he found Niall curled up in an armchair shivering, a thick blanket covering his body, yet his face was flushed, sweat beads balled up along his forehead.

“Oh god, Nialler,” he ran over to his bandmate and placed his hand on the other boy’s forehead, as if he didn’t already know he was burning up. “Why didn’t you come find me?”

Niall forced a smile. “I didn’t want to bother you. You were busy helping everyone else and Zayn needed me.”

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” Louis helped get Niall to his feet and two doors down the hall to Louis’ room where the younger boy crawled into bed. Louis covered him with the white sheet and placed a cool wet washcloth on his forehead and a glass of water and some ibuprofen on the bedside table, prompting Niall to take the medicine. He knew it wouldn’t save his bandmate, but it might help with the aches and pain in the early stages. Louis found Joel, a member of their stage crew who was feeling okay, and assigned him to Niall’s bedside, despite the Irish lad’s insistence he could take care of himself.

Zayn was awake and more coherent than he had been the previous couple days when Louis returned to his room. 

“Niall’s sick isn’t he?” Zayn’s voice was barely audible, and Louis had to lean in closely to understand what his mate was asking. Every breath was met with a loud wheeze or a cough that often resulted in the vomiting of blood. He continued to radiate heat, his body seemed to be shrinking by the hour, and he could no longer even raise his arms up off the bed because he was so frail. Louis had to find some baby nappies to place under his bandmate to keep the mattress and bed sheets from getting soiled. He fought to hold back tears as he gazed at the shell of a man looking up at him.

“Yeah,” he admitted with a nod.

“Are you okay?” Louis could see the concern in Zayn’s still beautiful eyes. 

“Physically, yes.” He forced himself to smile. “Emotionally, not so much.”

“Lou, thanks for staying and taking care of me.” 

Louis winced a bit at how long it was taking Zayn to spit out his words because of how difficult it was for him to breathe. He knew each breath must be excruciating.

“No problem, Z. I didn’t have anywhere else to go anyway.”

“It’s almost over I can feel it.” Zayn’s left hand weakly reached out for Louis’ hand. Louis wove their fingers together, although his younger bandmate didn’t have the strength to hold on tightly. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for leaving the band the way I did. I should’ve talked to you guys first, to you especially.”

Louis shook his head. “No, Zayn, it doesn’t matter now. We all made mistakes. I forgave you already and I was an idiot about it too. I should’ve realized how unhappy you were back then.”

Zayn’s lips turned upward in a weak smile. “So, we’re good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

There was silence for a few moments before Zayn spoke again. “Lou, I’m terrified of death, of dying.”

Louis felt dampness behind his eyes at Zayn’s confession. This was too much. It was too difficult. They had just got back to their old selves again and now Louis was losing his friend a second time, only this time there wouldn’t be a reunion, at least not on earth. He struggled to find the right words in his brain. “Don’t be afraid, Zayn. There’s a better place out there when this life is done. You’ll be reunited with your grandparents and maybe you and Liam can make beautiful music together while you wait on Niall and Harry and me. We won’t be far behind.”

Zayn’s eyes were glossy, his body too dehydrated to produce actual tears. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Louis answered sarcastically, although his voice broke a little so he wasn’t sure the sarcasm was detected.

His bandmate tried to chuckle in response but it developed into a painful coughing fit. Zayn cried out in pain as he convulsed, blood running from his nose. Louis held a bowl under him to catch the blood. A few minutes later the bleeding slowed to almost a complete stop and Zayn laid back and let his eyes drift shut. Louis thought his bandmate had fallen asleep, their hands intertwined together again, but just as Louis was about to get up and check on Niall, Zayn spoke again, his eyes half lidded.

“I don’t want to tell you goodbye, Louis,” Zayn confessed, his words coming out at a turtle’s pace. “How about so long? It doesn’t sound so permanent.”

“It sounds perfect,” Louis whispered back.

“Okay,” Zayn took as deep of a breath as he could muster. “So long, Louis.”

Louis squeezed his friend’s hand before answering, taking a page from Liam. “Goodnight, mate.”

Zayn closed his eyes for the last time. Four hours later the wheezing stopped and his chest stilled. Louis sat next to Zayn the entire time, never letting go of his hand. When it was over he kissed the other boy’s forehead, and then it was all too much. Sprinting to the toilet, Louis heaved over and over again, until he felt like all of his internal organs had been twisted and turned inside out.

Eventually he made his way back to his room to break the news to Niall. They cried together for what felt like hours, recalling some of their best times with Zayn, as well as Liam.

 

Around dawn on Friday, the twenty-second of June, Louis sent a text to Harry:

**Zayn passed a few hours ago. Niall is sick. Hazza, I’m scared. Please tell me you’re okay?**

He received no reply.

 

That morning Joel, who woke up to a fever, and Esmeralda, a laundry attendant for the hotel who was dying in a bed on the first floor, were the only two living souls in the hotel besides Louis and Niall. Louis spent hours digging a grave in the park for Zayn. Niall was already too sick to leave the room, so Louis brought Zayn’s body into his room for an impromptu funeral. Afterward, Louis and Joel (who was well enough to help) finished the burial. Late in the afternoon the power went out. Esmeralda died that evening.

On Saturday, both Niall and Joel took a turn for the worse. Niall fell into a comatose state by afternoon. Joel followed shortly before midnight. 

Joel passed away suddenly around 4 pm on Sunday. Niall’s last breath was taken a few hours later. There had been no goodbyes between Louis and the Irishman and Louis threw himself on his bandmate’s chest and wept when he realized his adopted little brother was gone. He was alone. He was the last one left. He begged God or fate to strike him down right then and there because he didn’t want to suffer and die alone. 

 

The next morning he found a will to live with a text message.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday, June 27, 2018  
Meadowbrook, Nebraska

“Welcome to my home,” Carl announced as he opened the front door of a charming old two story white Cape Cod style home, about two blocks north of the park. 

Louis stepped into the dark room but was shocked when Carl flipped a light switch and the lights under a ceiling fan came to life.

“You still have electricity?” He asked while turning around to look at Carl who was still standing near the door a few feet away.

Carl smiled. “I have a backup generator for power outages. Unfortunately I’m almost out of gas and oil for it, so I have maybe another day worth of electricity before I’m in the dark.”

Louis nodded to show he understood as he turned back around and slowly took in the room. He was clearly standing in a square shaped living room with cream colored walls. It was not a large room, but was big enough for a small family, although it wasn’t much smaller than the living room Louis’ family had before he became famous and bought his mother a larger home. Dark hardwood floors lay under his feet as he took a few steps toward a brick fireplace with a large mantle. On top of the mantle sat several pictures, some that included Carl and some that did not. There was a wedding picture in the center that looked to be from the 1980s based on the style of tux and gown.

“You were married?” Louis asked curiously, hoping he wasn’t overstepping his boundaries.

Carl propped his rifle against the wall before he sauntered over to stand beside Louis and pointed to the pretty girl in the lacy gown with huge puffy sleeves. “That’s my Lucia. We met when her family were migrant workers on my daddy’s farm in Arkansas in ‘86. Her family would come work in the fields from April until after the harvest in late October or early November. They would live in these trailers set up on the far edge of our property, almost a mile walk from the main house. Then once harvest was over they would go back to Mexico with the two other families Daddy employed. When they first came to work for us I was 17 and Lucia was 15.”

Carl shook his head with a fond smile as if he was lost briefly in a cherished memory and Louis couldn’t help but smile right back at him. “Man, it was love at first sight. We met down by the creek that ran through the middle of our property. I still remember the blue sundress she was wearing, bare feet splashing in the shallow water. The second I gazed into those big brown eyes I was a goner. I knew at that very moment that there would never be another for me.

“We started sneaking around to see each other when we could each summer and we’d miss each other something fierce during the winters. Then in August of ‘88 Daddy had a stroke and was left partially paralyzed. He decided to sell the farm after the harvest and move our family into Little Rock. Lucia and I were heartbroken because we knew we would never see each other again once November came around. I remember lying awake at night alone in my bed wishing I could hold her in my arms. Finally about two weeks before the end of harvest I went to her father and in the best Spanish I could muster I begged him to let me marry his eldest daughter. I was sure he would say no, not because I was black, but because I was Baptist and they were devout Catholics, really devout, but he looked me in the eye with a stern face for what seemed like forever before he shook my hand and told me in broken English to take care of his little girl. We were married two weeks later in my family’s backyard. Lucia wore my older sister’s wedding dress from a few years earlier. Daddy sold the farm that winter and we moved into the city where I found a job refinishing furniture. Lucia eventually became a US citizen and went to nursing school.

“We moved out here in 1995 when she took a job at a hospital just this side of Lincoln. I built and sold furniture from my own shop right here behind the house. We were planning a trip to Hawaii for our 30th wedding anniversary this fall but you know...”

The older man paused, his eyes a bit glassy, and Louis silently nodded, looking down at the ground.

After a few moments Louis cleared his throat. “Did you ever have any children?”

Carl picked up a photograph of a young man in a military uniform. “This was our son, Antonio. He was a good kid, fiesty at times, but he loved everyone with his whole heart. He wanted to be a doctor and he didn’t want us to pay for his tuition for school so he joined the army when he was 18 because they would provide him with most of his education in exchange for his service to the country.”

“Sounds like a great son,” Louis acknowledged.

Carl nodded. “He was until he was sent to serve in Afghanistan. It was his first tour overseas and the second day there the jeep he was riding in hit a hidden explosive and they sent him home in a body bag.”

“Wow. I am so sorry.” Louis was at a loss for words that this man, who less than thirty minutes earlier had been holding a shotgun to his head, was now opening up so honestly and telling him about something that was assuredly one of the worst events of his life.

“He was 19 then and would’ve turned 26 this past February.”

Louis made a slight gasping noise. “We were the same age. I’m 26.”

Carl gave Louis a slight smile. “We were devastated. Our only child taken from us way too soon. You know the saying ‘no parent should have to bury their child?’”

“Yes,” Louis’ voice was barely a whisper.

“Well it’s true,” Carl admitted, “but now I know that if I didn’t bury him back then I would’ve had to now because he probably would’ve died from the flu anyway. Still I would’ve liked to have had seven more years with him and I know his mother would’ve too.”

Louis just stood and stared at the pictures because he didn’t know what to say to Carl. He wasn’t a parent who had ever lost a child. He had lost his mother and sisters, grandparents, cousins, friends, and everyone he had ever known including the love of his life most likely. He never knew his father but he was sure the man who provided the sperm to create his life was dead too, but he imagined losing one’s own child would be the ultimate sorrow.

Carl cleared his throat. “Let me show you around the house.”

Louis followed him into the kitchen, and then up the stairs where he was instructed to leave his things in the guest bedroom. After the tour of the upstairs, Carl led him downstairs to a finished basement that had clearly been made into a man-cave. There were sports banners hanging all over the dark wood paneled walls and most notably University of Arkansas posters, shot glasses, and other memorabilia throughout the room. Louis wasn’t even sure what sports the Memphis Grizzlies or the Tennessee Titans played but it was apparent that Carl was a big fan. Louis, an avid footie fan, could appreciate that. 

In one corner of the room was a mini bar and also a full-size refrigerator and a small deep freezer. Carl walked over to the fridge, opened the door and pulled out some ground beef, holding it up in the air for Louis to see.  
“How about we grill some burgers for dinner?”

“Sounds delicious,” Louis responded, feeling his stomach growl as if on cue.

Once Carl went out to grill the burgers on his back patio, Louis went upstairs to shower. He hadn’t taken a real shower in almost a week and the feeling of the hot water pounding his back and the shampoo being massaged through his hair was nothing short of amazing. It felt so good to be thoroughly clean, instead of just washing up his face, arms and legs with water from a bottle and a tiny bar of hotel soap. He took his time in the water because he wasn’t sure when or if he would ever get another shower like this. 

Thirty minutes after getting in the shower, he was freshly shaven and dressed in a pair of black track pants and a plain white v-neck t-shirt. He made his way barefoot downstairs and out onto the patio where Carl was finishing up the burgers.

“I don’t have any hamburger buns so we’ll have to use some bread that I pulled out of the freezer.” Carl explained.

“No complaints from me,” Louis replied. “I haven’t had any meat that wasn’t from a can in over a week so I’d eat a hamburger without any bread if there was no other choice.”

A few minutes later Louis was sitting at a patio table and being served a plate with what had to have been a half pound burger, a slice of swiss cheese melted over the patty and topped with pickles, tomato and mustard. On the side were seven perfectly red strawberries that Carl informed Louis were freshly picked from his own backyard.

It may as well have been a gourmet meal cooked at a fancy Hollywood restaurant, because that’s what it looked like to Louis and one bite of the juicy burger told him it tasted like gourmet too. He made sure to savor every bite.

“So English, tell me about yourself. Where are you from? What did you do for a living? I already spilled the beans about my life story so now it’s your turn.” Carl placed his burger down on his plate, sat back in his chair, and crossed his arms as if he was ready and willing to listen.

Louis wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with explaining his life history. He decided to go the somewhat vague route.

“Well, I’m 26. I grew up in a town called Doncaster, a few hours drive north of London. I was raised by me mum and stepfather until they divorced when I was 18. I had four younger sisters. We were a close knit family.”

Carl smiled and Louis surprisingly felt at ease talking about his life with this man who was for the most part still a stranger, a stranger who only an hour prior had been pointing a gun at Louis’ head.

Louis took a drink of his ice water before continuing. “When I was 18 I had the fortune of getting into the music industry and I got to travel all over the world and meet some amazing people because of it. I’ve been lucky with that part of my life.”

“Sounds like a dream career;” Carl remarked. “What exactly did you do in the music industry to get to travel so much? I assume you play guitar since you’re traveling with one.”

Louis froze for a second before deciding that the Louis Tomlinson of old, the one that almost every female under the age of 30 would instantly recognize no longer existed and therefore he had no need to share the fact that he was a famous boyband member with anyone. 

“I’m a songwriter and I helped discover new artists for the label I worked with. I was hoping to be a big music producer someday.” It wasn’t a lie, just an omission of some truths.

“Kind of sucks that you got stuck in Nebraska when all hell broke loose, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I tried to get back to the UK but the flights were canceled and so I watched some of my best friends and co-workers die in our hotel, knowing I couldn’t do anything to ease their pain. Hell is definitely the right word for what I’ve been through over the past few weeks.”

Carl grunted in agreement. They both knew anyone still left alive in the world had been through the worst trauma of their lives in recent weeks.

“You weren’t married or had any kids though?”

Louis shook his head. “No spouse or kids…,” he let his voice drift off as his mind flashed forward to the future he had once imagined with Harry: an old house in the English countryside with a large garden to play football in, two or three children giggling as they managed to score a goal against their fathers, and a look of pure love on Harry’s face when he tucked those same kids into their beds at night before slipping into bed next to Louis, their lips meeting in a gentle goodnight kiss. His thoughts were interrupted by Carl’s voice.

“But you loved someone?”

“What?” Louis asked, snapping back to reality.

“You loved someone. I can tell by the look on your face.”

Louis’ lips turned up slightly, not quite reaching a smile, but close. “We were eighteen and sixteen when we met. I was older. We were both—um—going after the same job I guess you could say. You know how you said you just knew when you met your wife?”

“Yes,” Carl responded knowingly.

“That’s what I felt the second I looked up and saw shimmering green eyes and a head full of brown curls. I just knew. I was completely captivated and somehow we ended up getting to work together and live together and love each other. I felt like I won the fucking lottery.”

“So what happened?”

Louis sighed. “Things got more and more complicated over time and I got scared and I ran. It was the biggest mistake of my life. I promised myself that I would never abandon someone I love ever again.”

“So that’s why you’re going to California, isn’t it? To make sure the friend you have there is gone? You can’t live with yourself if you think you might be abandoning someone you care about?”

Carl was intuitive, Louis would give him that; however he wouldn’t tell him that his friend in California and the person he was madly in love with were in fact one and the same person.

“Yeah, I guess so, but my friend also sent me a text less than three days ago and I couldn’t reply to find out if he was okay, but I keep holding out hope that maybe didn’t get sick too. I know it’s a long shot but I have to know.”

“I can respect that.” Carl nodded. “you’re a good man, English. I can tell that already and I’m a good judge of character.”

“Thanks.” Louis smiled. “You know you could come with me to California? There’s no one else around here and I could use the company.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Carl answered in his slow southern drawl, clearly taken aback by the offer. “This has been my home for so long now. I can’t imagine leaving this old town behind.”

“But there’s no one else here. If we go to a larger city we would have a better chance of finding other survivors and you said you aren’t fond of being alone.”

Carl chuckled. “That’s true. I did say that, didn’t I? But it’s a big decision to just up and leave everything you love.”

“Tell me about it,” Louis answered with an understanding tone. “Why don’t you sleep on it tonight and let me know your decision before I leave in the morning?”

“I can do that.”

“Oh and if you decide to come with me, promise me you aren’t going to hold a rifle to someone else’s head like you did to me?”

“Hey, haven’t you ever watched The Walking Dead?” Carl asked. “It’s the people, not the zombies, you have to watch out for!”

A small laugh escaped Louis’ lips. “Yeah, well there may be dead bodies everywhere but so far I’ve yet to see any resurrect themselves and we’re not living in the land of fiction.”

 

“You might regret saying that,” Carl argued, “but I can respect your wishes, IF I decide to go with you.”

“Sounds like a deal, yeah?”

Carl reached out to shake Louis’ hand across the table. “Deal.”

 

Despite getting his best night’s sleep in weeks, Louis rose early with the sun the next morning and he was surprised to find Carl already awake, sitting at the kitchen table, in a blue robe, a steaming cup of coffee cradled in his hands.

“Morning, English,” he stated with a sleepy voice, before blowing on the hot liquid. “Did’ya sleep alright?”

Yeah, great in fact,” Louis voice came out groggy as well.

“You want some coffee?”

“No thanks,” Louis answered shaking his head. “I don’t suppose you have any tea have you?”

“Nah, no tea drinkers in this house, unless you count occasional sweet tea. Sorry.”

“S’okay. I’ll never understand you Americans and your bloody cold tea though.” Louis sat down opposite the older man at the small round kitchen table. 

Carl laughed before suddenly turning serious. “So, I made a decision regarding your offer from last night.”

Louis raised his eyebrows. “You did? What did you decide?”

“After hours of tossing and turning about it last night, I kept coming back to an old country song my wife always loved. It said ‘Life’s a dance, you learn as you go, sometimes you lead, sometimes you follow. Don’t worry ‘bout what you don’t know. Life’s a dance you learn as you go.’” Carl shrugged. “I guess I just have to stop thinking about all I lost and I’m leaving behind. I’ve always fancied myself a leader, but this time I think maybe I just need to follow for a bit and see where this new life leads me.”

Louis smiled. “Thanks. I hope you don’t end up regretting this decision.”

“So, when do we leave?” Carl questioned.

“As soon as possible. You don’t happen to have a bicycle do you? I’ve found it’s easier to get through traffic jams than driving and is faster than walking. I mean we can try to drive or walk if that’s better for you.”

Carl stood up and motioned for Louis to follow him. They ended up outside, and crossed Carl’s backyard before coming to a large building that faced an alley. Once inside, Louis’ gasped. The large room was filled with gorgeous wooden tables, rocking chairs, chests, desks, benches, and bookcases. All were obviously fashioned by hand instead of machine and many boasted impressive engravings.

“Wow,” Louis breathed as his eyes passed slowly from one piece of furniture to another. “Did you make all of these yourself?”

“I did,” Carl responded proudly. “It’s been my life work for more than twenty years now. Remember that bench you were planning on making your bed in the park last night?”

Louis nodded.

“I made that too, and all of the other benches around town.”

“Impressive. I wish I had that kind of talent.”

“It’s not talent, English. It’s just a lot of hands on practice,” Carl corrected. “Anyway, I have a bike back here in the corner. I haven’t ridden it in a few years but it should still be in good shape.”

Two hours, and one bacon and eggs breakfast later, Carl was packed and ready to go. Louis pulled Zayn’s beanie over his head as Carl turned back to look over his home one last time.

“So long old house, old town. You’ll always be right here,” Carl patted two fingers to his heart, his voice thick with emotion, “but I’ve got new memories to make.”

 

As the sun started to beat hot on the asphalt below them, the two men made their way out of Meadowbrook, pedaling with their packs, westward bound down U.S. Highway 34.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story despite my long gaps between postings!
> 
> Chapter title is inspired by the song "Say Goodnight, Not Goodbye" by Beth Nielsen Chapman. 
> 
> I'm so so sorry for all the angst in this chapter. This is the worst one for now, I promise. :)


	6. What's Mine is Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super long update drought, but I promise I'm still working on this story! I've been really busy with work and have had some health issues to deal with too. Thanks to everyone who has been waiting for an update or who stumbles in and reads this! Hope you enjoy!

Tuesday, August 30th, 2011  
London, England

“Ugh, leave me alone,” Louis murmured, pushing away the hands trying to shake him awake. “Bloody hell, it’s too early!”

“Lou, it’s time to go to the gym before rehearsals.”

Louis managed to pry his eyes open slowly. He found a pair of tired green eyes staring back at him from above him. “Harry, how ‘bout we just skip the gym today and sleep in, yeah? I need me beauty rest.”

Harry chuckled. “You’re plenty beautiful already, Louis.”

“Thanks, love,” Louis answered groggily, while trying to hide his smile by rolling onto his side and pulling the blanket up over his face. A moment later the blanket was being ripped off of him and the feeling of tickling fingers reached his side and his belly, eliciting high pitched squeals from his mouth. He rolled onto his back and fought against the younger boy who had climbed above him on the bed, the other boy’s bed, but Harry was too strong and pinned Louis’ arms above his head with his hands. 

Suddenly everything went calm and they were left silently staring at one another, their faces mere centimeters apart. Louis felt a flutter within him. It was something that had been happening for almost a year, since only days after they had met, but since they had moved into a flat together the previous month it was becoming a daily, or more like hourly, occurrence. 

They had spent the weekend camping at Leeds Festival. A few of Louis’ friends had invited them to the music fest and Louis and Harry had taken their own tent to sleep in. It had been a wonderful couple of days filled with music and dancing and meeting fans (they hadn’t realized how many fans One Direction already had after only one single had been released) and of course partying. On the final night of the festival, they had climbed into their tent in the wee hours of the morning, both admittedly pissed, and confessed a variety of secrets they both had been holding onto for awhile. Some of them were nothing. Louis admitted to Harry that he and Zayn had recently smoked a joint together at Zayn’s new flat. Harry had spilled the secret that he once asked a girl if he could kiss her on a train just because he saw her applying a blue colored lip balm to her chapped lips and he desperately wanted to know its flavor. It was candy floss, Harry had told him before Louis even had the chance to ask.

Eventually, the secrets began to become more personal. Harry had quietly admitted to him that he liked when Louis slept in his bed next to him, because it made him feel less alone in the big city, and it was almost sunrise when Louis lost the last of his self control. “I want to kiss you, right now. I’ve wanted to for like a year,” he spit out, too drunk and tired to care about the potential consequences of his confession. He had expected Harry to grimace or at least be surprised, or to think that Louis was only joking, but instead he saw a tiny smile creep onto the younger boy’s face.

“Then kiss me,” Harry’s voice had been nothing more than a whisper, yet it was clear to Louis that it was a challenge. He didn’t intend to lose.

So, he leaned in and kissed Harry. Their lips were warm from the summer heat, tasting of alcohol and gummy bears, and they had a bad case of onion breath from the burgers they had scarfed down earlier, yet it clearly didn’t matter at that moment. It was relatively chaste, really; their lips mostly just pressed against one another’s without much movement, yet Louis did at some point reach up and caress Harry’s cheek with his right hand and Harry, in turn, pressed into the kiss more. It lasted only seconds before they separated and laid there just staring at each other, their faces mere centimeters apart. What happened a few moments later is what Louis couldn’t get out of his mind every second since. Harry, cheeks tinted pink, probably from both the alcohol and the kiss, had one last confession to make.

“Lou?” he spoke softly.

“Hmm?” Louis murmured in reply, fighting off sleep, his eyes drifting shut.

“I love you.”

Louis smiled, not even bothering to open his eyes. “I love you too, Haz. Now go to sleep so we can actually drive home in a few hours.”

A small sigh escaped the younger boys’ lips. “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying, Lou.” There was a brief pause before Harry continued. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Louis’ eyes flew open in response. “What?”

“You heard me.” Harry’s face was serious, not a trace of drunken silliness remained.

“Haz, are you pulling me leg?” Louis shifted himself so that he was propped up on one elbow looking down on the younger boy who was lying on his back.

Harry simply shook his head, before averting Louis’ gaze. 

Louis took a deep breath. He had been so taken aback by the sudden admission he wasn’t sure how to react. The truth was that he himself had fallen for Harry long ago, yet he had held it in for a long time, forcing himself to be content with the small touch of Harry’s hand on his arm, or with being allowed to place his own hand on the small of Harry’s back while weaving through crowds of people, or to just lie there and watch the younger lad sleep after a night of movies and popcorn in one of their bedrooms. This was going to take some time to process. So he went with a sarcastic reply in typical Louis Tomlinson style.

“Wow, I knew I was a good kisser, but I didn’t know I had the power to make boys fall in love with me with just one press of me lips.”

Harry blushed. “Shut up!” He pushed Louis in the shoulder, clearly embarrassed.

“Go to sleep, Haz,” Louis responded as he settled back onto his pillow and pulled his sleeping bag up to his shoulders before closing his eyes.

Harry followed suit with a sigh. 

Yet, Louis couldn’t fall asleep, not when his hand was placed next to Harry’s, barely brushing the other boy’s thumb. The feeling had sent a sweet sensation down his spine.

So, two mornings later as he stared up at the green eyed boy above him, post tickle torture, lips so full and pink and beautiful, Louis Tomlinson swallowed with an audible gulp before he made one last confession. 

“I’m in love with you too.” The words felt heavy on his lips, yet relief passed through his body. It had been so long that he’d wanted to tell Harry how he felt. Now he hoped that Harry remembered their conversation in the tent, and that his bandmate’s confession hadn’t been just for drunken fun.

The answer was instantly obvious as Harry’s face took on a beaming light nearly as bright as the sunlight streaming through the windows and before Louis could even smile back, Harry was kissing him, their chests pressed together, the younger boy’s hands reaching up into Louis’ disheveled hair. The kiss was rougher than the one they had shared in the tent, but still rather chaste as they pulled apart just long enough to gauge one another’s reaction before their lips were connected again in a series of short pecks. Eventually, Louis became brave enough to open his mouth and run his tongue along Harry’s bottom lip, prompting the younger boy to part his own lips and meet Louis’ tongue with his own. The sensation sent sparks shooting throughout Louis’ entire body. He had never felt anything like this before, not even during sex with his ex-girlfriend; a girl he had thought he loved at the time. This feeling was new. It was exhilarating. It was terrifying.

They didn’t make it to the gym that morning. In fact, they barely made it to rehearsal on time due to their extended make out session on Harry’s bed that led to the corridor and then to the kitchen as Harry attempted to make breakfast. Louis felt Zayn’s eyes on him as they went thought their entire set for the upcoming tour. That lad knew. He always knew. Then again Harry hadn’t taken his eyes off of Louis the entire rehearsal either, so there wasn’t much chance of hiding their affection. Louis tried his best to ignore the staring, although he was pretty sure he failed miserably.

Once rehearsal was over Zayn cornered him in a small room. 

“So, uh, what’s going on with Harry?”

Louis shrugged and tried to play it cool. “I don’t know,” he said nonchalantly. “He seems fine to me.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Yeah, fine if giving your bandmate constant googly eyes is considered normal. I mean I thought he was going to start drooling at one point. He missed his spot to come in more than once which isn’t like him at all.”

“Maybe he’s just tired today,” Louis answered, putting a hand on the other lad’s shoulder. “I think you’re just seeing things, Z.”

“I think I’m seeing things too,” Zayn responded, a knowing look in his brown eyes. “I think I’m seeing my two bandmates finally realize they’re in love with each other.”

“What two bandmates?” Louis asked, faking surprise. “Harry and Niall? They do have some amazing chemistry.”

“Shut up,” Zayn laughed. “I’ll drop the subject, but just know I’m on to you two.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Louis answered back with an innocent tone as Zayn turned and walked out of the room. Louis breathed a heavy sigh of relief once the room was empty. He wasn’t ready to talk about what was going on between him and Harry with anyone just yet.

The sigh of relief came too soon it turned out, because only seconds later Louis found himself standing face-to-face with John, one of the executives from their record label. “Louis, a few of us would like to have a meeting with you in the conference room if you can spare a few minutes.”

“Just me?” Louis asked, clearly surprised. It wasn’t everyday that the big shots came to the rehearsal studio and they had never asked Louis to meet with them by himself.

“Yes, just you,” John replied. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Um, yeah, sure. Okay.”

 

Two hours later, Louis pulled into the carpark outside of his and Harry’s flat. Once parked, he turned off the engine and laid his forehead to rest on the steering wheel, hands still gripped around it at three and nine. He didn’t want to face Harry, but he knew he had to tell him the news. They were lucky, he knew, by the success they were experiencing since the band was formed on The X Factor one year earlier, but he was quickly learning that fame came with a price. He was afraid the price would be steep for him and he feared even more so for Harry who was already being deemed the heartthrob of the group.

Ten minutes later, he found the nerve to go inside. As soon as he stepped through the front door, the smell of something delicious reached his nostrils and Harry was bounding out of the kitchen, a huge smile on his face, and a pink “Kiss the Cook” apron wrapped around his torso. Louis couldn’t help but crack a somber smile himself.

“How’d the meeting go? Liam just left like fifteen minutes ago. It was nice of him to bring me home, yeah? I’m making spaghetti for dinner.”

Harry leaned in and kissed Louis on the lips, like they had been doing it for years, instead of just hours. Louis was hesitant to kiss him back and it didn’t take Harry long to realize it.

“Fuck, sorry, I shouldn’t—fuck,” Harry backed away, shaking his head in embarrassment.

Louis reached out and grabbed Harry’s wrist gently. “No Haz, it’s not you. I’m...it’s...shit…,” his eyes started to water and he found himself staring at Harry’s bare feet, “...it’s the meeting.” 

Harry reached out with his free hand and tilted Louis’ chin up to look at him, the younger boy’s face full of concern. “What happened?”

Louis breathed in deep a few times, before answering, still not wanting to look the other boy in the eyes. “Harry, when I told you I loved you this morning, I meant it. Promise me no matter what happens you’ll remember that?”

“Louis, you’re scaring me,” Harry admitted, his deep voice shaky.

“Haz, promise me,” Louis reiterated. 

Harry nodded. “I promise I’ll remember,” he grabbed Louis’ hands with his own and squeezed them. “Now tell me what the hell is going on?”

“You remember that girl that I was introduced to a few weeks ago; the one who is friends with what’s-his-name from management’s son?”

“Yeah, I think I remember you mentioning her once.”

“Well, she’s officially my new girlfriend.”

“What?” 

Louis sighed. “Yeah, the label and management think it would be better if I appear straight to the public, especially because we’re going to the States soon and it’s more homophobic than here. They don’t want to offend any of our fans or their parents. Plus, they know there’s some rumors about you and me floating around the fandom and they want to keep the buzz to a minimum.”

“Fuck,” Harry answered. “So, what does that mean? Are they just going to write some tabloid stories about you two like they’ve done with me a few times?”

“I don’t think so. I think I actually have to go out on public dates with her and get photographed with her and she might even travel with us sometimes. It’s supposed to look real. Fuck, what if I have to kiss her?”

Harry bit his bottom lip like he was deep in thought before responding. “They don’t know about us, right? You didn’t tell them we were together?”

Louis shook his head. “I was too afraid to tell them.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded. “It’s okay. We can handle this. It’s not a big deal. A fake kiss is exactly that. Fake. What we have is what’s real.”

“Are you sure?” Louis asked nervously. “What happens if they do realize we’re in a relationship? What will they make us do then? What if they tell us we can’t be together, Haz? I don’t know if I could handle that. I just want to be with you and I’m okay with it being secret, as long as I have you.”

Louis’ hands were shaking and a stray tear rolled down his right cheek. Harry gently wiped the tear away and pulled him into a tight embrace. “We’ll be okay. I promise, no matter what, I’ll look after us,” Harry whispered. “I’ll look after you.”

 

Saturday, June 30th, 2018  
Nebraska/Colorado border

Warmth presses against Louis’ back, causing him to stir from his slumber. A chilly nose nuzzles the nape of his neck and the smell of expensive cologne fills his nostrils. Taking a deep breath he lets the familiar scent envelop him. A long arm wraps around his torso and a large hand comes to rest flat against his bare chest. He's home. Finally.

“You’re back.” Louis practically purrs from happiness.

“I am,” a raspy voice whispers in reply. “Missed you baby.”

Louis smiles as he feels soft lips trail kisses up the side of his neck and behind his left ear. Fuck, he had missed his boy so much. Weeks of watching his lover fake date an internationally famous female pop star has taken its toll on him. On them.

“Missed you too. Didn’t think you’d be back this soon.” His breath hitches slightly as he feels the large hand slowly move from his chest down to the waistband of his pants, his quickly growing erection struggling to find adequate room under the material. He feels something equally hard pressed against his bum. It has been too long.

“I wasn’t supposed to be back yet,” the other boy answers quietly, almost seductively. His left hand slides inside Louis’ pants; long fingers softly graze the entirety of his throbbing length, swiping slowly over the tip, causing a soft whine to leave the older boy’s lips. “I couldn’t do it anymore, so I just left.”

Louis gasps, both from his boy’s admission and from the feeling of the warm hand now wrapped around him pumping slowly. He starts to turn so they could be face-to-face, lips-to-lips, but a strong shoulder stops him.

“Lou, let me just—,” he starts. The hand quickens its pace and Louis lets out a long groan in response. “I just need to give this to you, okay? Before anything else.”

He understands. He has been there himself. There is a certain amount of guilt involved when faking a relationship with someone, especially when the person you actually love has to watch silently from afar, or even worse, from right next to you. For the past month or so Louis has been witness to his lover’s fake love life splashed across the front page of every tabloid and entertainment magazine. He saw pictures and video of their dates, of their kiss, on social media sites and on the telly. It hurts. It always hurts, but this time it was agonizing because it was everywhere. This moment is the younger boy’s chance to say sorry, even though it isn't his fault, and to make it up to Louis; to say that he knows how much Louis has been hurting without actually vocalizing the words and Louis adores him for that. So he doesn’t reply, but let’s the warm feeling fill his groin from the familiar hand intent on pleasuring him; from familiar teeth gently nibbling at his earlobe. 

Only a few minutes later he’s spilling out into his boxers and over the hand that brings him to his climax. A fresh love bite throbs on his exposed shoulder as he calls out his lover’s name. He waits until the younger boy pulls away for a moment, to roll over and face him. He’s met with messy curls, sparkling lust filled eyes, and a genuine smile.

“I love you,” Louis says. Even after saying those words a thousand times to the same boy, they never get old.

Something changes in the younger boy’s face then. It stills. His smile fades; his eyes full of worry. “Louis, don’t leave me,” his voice says, yet his mouth doesn’t move.

Louis reaches out to caress his cheek and it’s so cold. “I’ll never leave you.” A feeling of panic rises within him as he hears his own words echo in his ears.

Panic turns to terror as beautiful sea green eyes fade away, leaving only the hollows behind. Plump pink lips disappear, leaving only teeth. The younger boy’s skin begins to dry out and fall away, ‘causing Louis to withdraw his hand in fright. His heart thumps so hard he feels it may actually break out of his chest as the body before him becomes nothing more than a skeleton.

“Lou, where are you?” It asks through chattering teeth. “I can’t see you! Don’t leave me!” 

Louis scoots backward on the bed, away from the bony shape with the voice of the boy he loves. “Harry!” he screams in both fear and agony.

 

The next thing he knew he was bolting upright in his sleeping bag, gasping for any air his lungs could find, his eyes wide open inside the small green and brown tent. “Harry.” The name only a whisper as he felt wetness form behind his sky colored eyes. It took him a moment to come down from the intensity of his nightmare and fully find his senses. The early morning sun brought just enough light for him to look around. Carl was sound asleep only inches away from him, birds chirped in the trees outside, and it became increasingly evident that there was a sticky mess inside his pants. 

“Fuck,” he murmured as he quietly unzipped the tent door and stepped outside, taking in his surroundings. He was standing in the middle of a small meadow just off of the highway about one mile west of the Nebraska-Colorado border. Large trees stood between him and the road and despite it still being early summer the once green grass was already starting to show brown spots from the intensity of the sun. Their tent was situated just in front of a river. Louis didn’t know its name, but none-the-less his feet quickly led him to its bank. He stripped off his shorts and underpants and waded into the water, shivering as the cold liquid enveloped him. 

He found the courage to dive underwater, and in that split second he considered just letting the fluid fill his lungs and drown him; let it chase away his nightmares forever. The moment passed, however, and he swam back up to the surface, letting out a loud yell once air reached his lungs again. He splashed around in the water, anger building up within him, tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

It had been too much. The dream. It was the second nightmare in two nights. The first one had involved Niall and Zayn and had been bad enough. Bad enough for him to pull out his phone and stare endlessly at the last pic he took of them, asleep in his hotel bed the night before Zayn fell ill. The second one was too much for him to take; to relive a happy moment for Harry and himself from years earlier and turn it into a horror story. Fuck, he was living in a horror movie now. Both in his dreams and in reality. No more pleasure, only pain. The sudden realization that he’d been trying to get to California in a most likely futile attempt at finding the boy—the man— he loves hit him hard. The man he’s loved since he was 18 years old. The man who is most likely deceased. The man who suffered and died without knowing how much Louis still loved him.

Another scream left his throat and the tears flowed freely.

He wept, standing waist deep in the shallow cold water, his head buried in his hands, his lips a soft shade of purple shivered uncontrollably. He wept until there were no more tears to cry and when the moment passed, he waded back onto the shore, rinsed out his soiled pants in the water, and then located his backpack near the tent to find dry clothes. Moments later, Carl stepped outside, his brown eyes locked on Louis’ face. It was obvious in the look he gave that he had heard Louis’ breakdown, but he said nothing. His face showed only empathy. 

Two men who had lost everything.

They heated up a can of pork and beans for breakfast. Louis struggled to keep it down. Despite eating less than ever over the past few weeks, he never really found himself to be hungry, and living off of canned meat, vegetables, and beans was especially difficult. Yet the protein and vitamins were needed for strength and energy. Fruit and the occasional candy bar were the one reprieve that Louis could stomach.

Soon they were back on the road heading west. It was the third day of their trip and Louis was impressed by how strong Carl was both physically and emotionally. The older man had no problem keeping pace with Louis, or at least he didn’t show it if he was struggling to keep up. They mostly rode their bicycles in silence, weaving in and out of the stalled cars along the highway. Louis wondered if the older man was as torn up inside as he was, because most of the time he just rode along with a smile on his face. Who could smile at a time like this?

Riding in silence gave Louis more time to think, and that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. He thought back on the events of recent weeks, of the look on his bandmates’ dying faces, of the last time he was home to see his now deceased family, of his recent nightmares, of Harry’s text. 

_I love you Lou. I always have…_

_Always_

The words kept his feet pedaling, even while he wanted to give up; the weight of Zayn’s backpack and Harry’s guitar pulling at his shoulders. 

They stopped in a two stoplight town called Maryville just after noon. Some decent looking fruit displayed outside the local grocery store was a godsend. Louis enjoyed a banana that was more than a little overripe, and couldn’t help but crack a small smile thinking back on how often Harry would just peel and eat a banana in the middle of a show, not caring that everyone in the stadium were watching him. When they lived together there were always more than enough bananas in their kitchen. So many that Louis got sick of them in fact. For awhile he refused to even eat them, constantly complaining about the lack of apples or plums in the house instead. “Go buy them yourself,” Harry would say. Yet, the next day Louis would get up to find his favorite fruit sitting on their counter. It was those little things that he loved the most about Harry. The younger man, despite being ridiculously famous and almost universally adored by millions, was the most unselfish person Louis ever knew. He always went out of his way to make everyone feel welcomed, safe, loved. It didn’t matter if the person he was with was family, or a friend, or a complete stranger. Harry made sure they were taken care of, even if it meant only offering a smile or a hug. He inspired Louis to try to do the same.

Carl was sat atop an old wooden picnic table in a small rundown park across the street from the tiny grocery store. The red paint of the table was mostly chipped away, along with the paint on the robin egg colored swingset and dark purple twisty slide nearby. Louis was certain the table and playground equipment were older than him, which was unsurprising given the condition of the town itself. He had a feeling that the recent economic recovery hadn’t quite reached Maryville.

“Want some beef jerky, English?” Carl asked, as he unwrapped a pack of the dried meat sticks.

Louis shook his head, leaning back against a large tree trunk. “No thanks,” he answered, “I’m good.”

Carl nodded silently, a smile painted on his face.

“Carl, can I ask you a question?” 

The older man raised his eyebrows. “Shoot.”

“You’ve lost everything; your wife, son, your home. How can you smile all the time when the world has gone to shit?”

Louis watched as Carl took in a long deep breath before answering. “The great writer Dr. Seuss once said ‘Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.’” He looked down at the ground for a moment before meeting Louis’ gaze again, a glimmer of sadness in his eyes. “My son loved Dr. Seuss when he was a young’un. He even had a Cat in the Hat themed bedroom at one point. After he died I found that quote and tried to live by it everyday. It’s gotten me through a lot of tough times. I accepted a long time ago that there’s no turning back time. I can only live in the present and hope for the future, while remembering the good times of the past with a smile.”

A small smile crossed Louis face. “I like that philosophy. A bit unrealistic perhaps, but I like it.”

“It doesn’t mean that I don’t hurt. I do. Sometimes so much I want to rip the heart out of my chest, but I just remind myself to focus on the good times and smile and keep moving.”

Louis nodded. “One thing is for sure, you’ve got balls of steel for an old man,” he chuckled before dodging a piece of beef jerky thrown at his face.

“Me old? I don’t think so,” Carl argued.

“Compared to me, you’re old,” Louis teased.

“You better shut yer mouth, son, or you can travel to California by yourself. You might sound smart with that accent of yours, but I promise you I’m wiser and stronger. You’ll need me if you run into a bear or a wolf in the mountains.”

“Fair enough,” Louis replied with a laugh. “I really do think you have balls of steel though. I mean that as a compliment.”

Carl stood up and grabbed his backpack before heading toward his bicycle, clearly trying to hide a smirk. “Thanks, English.”

 

They traveled west another fifteen miles before rain started to pour down and they turned down a gravel road in search of shelter. A group of three rural homes, two on the right side of the road, and one further down on the left, offered them reprieve from the driving water pellets. As they approached the first home on the right, an old faded yellow double wide mobile home, Louis immediately took notice.

“Carl, look! Lights!” he shouted in hopes the older man could hear him through the downpour.

“I see it!” Carl shouted back before leading them to the paved drive where an old white Jeep Grand Cherokee was parked.

They abandoned their bikes near the vehicle and slowly made their way up to the front door of the home. The sound of voices could be heard through an open window, but Louis couldn’t make out any words. Carl opened a flimsy screen door before knocking loudly on a more solid door behind it, but was met with no answer. He held his rifle tight with one hand as he turned the doorknob slowly. The door opened with a slight creaking sound, and the two men stepped straight into a dimly lit living room with orange shag carpet and ugly brown wood paneled walls. It was exactly like stepping into the early 1970s. A rust colored sofa sat in front of a television that was surprisingly a flat screen. The telly was playing an old episode of Power Rangers, the original series that Louis remembered watching himself as a child. He had such a crush on the green ranger back then, which had made him feel weird because all of his mates were into the pink ranger instead. 

An opened jar of peanut butter sat on a wooden coffee table, a large spoon stuck in the middle, the lid nowhere to be found. Next to the jar was a glass of water. Louis did a double take when he realized there were ice cubes floating inside the glass. Carl saw it at the same time and pointed to it. He brought one finger to his lips as a sign for Louis to remain silent and motioned for them to split up as they walked down a corridor. Carl walked into what looked to be a bedroom on the left and Louis opened the first door on the right. It was a small bathroom, with a yellow toilet and bathtub. The room was empty, so he moved on to the next door and slowly entered the room. 

He nearly jumped at the sight of a deceased woman lying in the middle of a queen sized bed. She looked to be about Louis’ age, with long strawberry blonde hair. Her eyes were closed, and her face had a sunken look, her body wrinkled and stiff. It was obvious she had been dead for at least a few days, yet due to a running window air conditioning unit, the smell in the room wasn’t yet unbearable, like it was in most other places where the dead were lain. He walked around the bed and peeked into a closet, seeing nothing but women’s clothing and boxes of shoes. There was no sign of anyone in the room. He wondered if perhaps someone had been inside the home recently but had since left or moved onto one of the other homes nearby. 

Next, he moved to an old oak dresser and opened the top drawer, unsure of what he was looking for exactly. This new life of scouring cupboards and dressers for things that could be taken with them still made him feel strange inside; like a petty thief. It wasn’t in his nature to take from others, but to give. Maybe it was because he was the firstborn in his family, maybe it was simply because of the way his mum raised him, but even in vacant homes and stores it felt wrong to steal from the dead. Finding nothing of interest he closed the top drawer. Just as he was about to open the drawer below, he heard something. It sounded distinctly like a sniffle.

Louis paused. And listened. In the distance he could hear Carl examining another room, yet every so often he could hear the same sniffing sound. After a few minutes he dropped down to his hands and knees and peered under the bed. His heart nearly simultaneously jumped into his throat and dropped into his stomach when he saw a pair of water filled blue eyes staring back at him. A pair of thin lips trembled below them. 

“Hey, love,” his voice soft yet nearly broken. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you, I promise.” He smiled genuinely, yet he heard the sound of soft sobs escape the shivering form under the bed. “Don’t cry. It’s going to be okay. Please come out. I’m not going to leave so you may as well come out from under there.”

Two or three minutes passed before there was movement. A small body shuffled its way out and soon Louis was face-to-face with a little girl, her long curly red hair wild and unbrushed, her body shaking from fear. She was dressed in filthy Wonder Woman pajamas, and peanut butter was smudged on her left cheek. It gutted him to know that this poor child had been alone and surviving on her own for days.

“Is this your mommy?” he asked while kneeling so he could be eye level with the child. He gestured toward the woman lying on top of the mattress with his right hand. The girl nodded through her sobs, her arms crossed in a defensive stance. “I’m sorry, love. I lost my mother too and it’s pretty scary, yeah?”

The girl nodded again, her eyes glued to her own feet. 

Louis placed a comforting hand on her right shoulder. “What’s your name?”

“Em—Em—Emily,” the little voice stuttered in reply.

“What a lovely name,” Louis responded gently. “Hi, Emily. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Louis.” He removed his hand from her shoulder and offered her a handshake. Finally, she raised her blue eyes to meet Louis’ own and weakly shook his hand with her own tiny dirty one. “How old are you, Emily?”

“Five,” Emily answered softly, holding up one hand with her fingers and thumb splayed open for Louis to see. “My sister Maggie went to heaven too. She’s nine. And Grumpa and Granny. At the white house with the swing.” Tears tracked down her dirty cheeks and she buried her face in her hands.

Louis pulled her to his chest and wrapped her tightly in a hug. “It’s alright, Emily,” he whispered near her ear. “It’s gonna be alright, love. I’ll look after you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is lyrics from The Fray's "Look After You" (check out Louis' cover of the song on YT from when he was 16 if you haven't before).
> 
> For those in North America, candy floss = cotton candy.


End file.
